An Unrefuseable Offer
by Aki and Tenshi
Summary: Mafia AU. Blaine is a jaded crime lord interested in Kurt, a singer at a speakeasy. Kurt is desperate to take care of his ill father. Blaine makes Kurt an offer, trade himself for Blaine's money and influence to get Burt the best medical care. And then there's Sebastian, who runs a rival mob. Angst, drama, and a dark, kinda romantic story
1. Chapter 1

**For Notes on Characterization and Trigger Warnings, Read This:  
**

**This is my newest Klaine story. It is an AU story in a slightly AU world, but that is all explained in the context of the story. This story does contain dark!Blaine, but I intend to explore how he got to that character from canon!Blaine, he is broken down and his layers are pulled back. Same with Kurt, who is a bit more placant and timid in the beginning of this story (although it is very much the broken down Kurt that we saw in Grilled Chesus and in his bullying arch). **

**While this story will not contain explicit sex scenes, there is implied sex and that is of dubious consent of the coerced sex variety. This will not be glorified, but be explored within the context of the story as a troublesome and problematic. While there are, yes, romantic elements in this story, it is a dark romance that does not lose sight of the consequence. If dubcon this is troubling for you, you shouldn't read this story. **

* * *

**Chapter 1**

In 1933, the Congress of the United States of America did not pass the potential twenty-first amendment to the United States Constitution, which would had repealed the prohibition of alcohol.

The Prohibition had been started with the intentions that getting rid of alcohol would create a better society, happier families, and less crime. However, the unintended result was that bootlegging alcohol became the economic force that pushed organized crime from being gambling and prostitution rings to something big and profitable and powerful. It was what made people like Al Capone into household names. And these organizations were smart enough to know that if alcohol became legal again, they would lose their biggest moneymaker.

So, circles of organized crime across the country informally pulled resources, and threatened, bribed, and blackmailed the great Congressmen of the United States to vote down what would have been the twenty-first amendment.

Decades past, the millennium turned, the Prohibition stood. There were cues and hits and shifts in power, but mafias and mobs and crime rings reigned in major and not-so-major cities across the United States of America. Come 2014, Long Island was practically run by Blaine Anderson.

…

Blaine Anderson eyed the singing boy on the stage he lounged on the chair at his reserved table. Anderson was a handsome man in his mid-twenties, but few saw it. For he was also a hardened man and that was reflected in his reputation proceeding him, in the scowl on his face, and in his eyes like ice – if not in color, but in emotion.

He had a cigarette and a scotch on the rocks and his tie hung loose by an inch. He sat alone, but his bodyguard stood off to the side. Blaine was capable of taking care of himself, but he had a lot of enemies. Though, any of them would be stupid to step into this joint to cause trouble. He owned it, technically, he like he owned every business in this town, having his organization's dirty money in it. Plus, there were more than a few of his associate's here tonight, also relaxing in their off hours.

What Blaine was interested in was the piece on stage. They always had good talent here at New Directions Tavern and not just pretty faces. Too many places focused on just having good looks in the spotlight, but it often made Blaine's ears bleed. He knew a thing or two about music. There was a rotation of singers at this speakeasy. A Jewish girl with quite a set of lungs seemed to be the favorite. Blaine couldn't recall her name. None really held his attention before.

The young man was stunning. Porcelain, pale skin; high cheek bones; wide shoulders, and a slim waist, although he looked a little swamped in his suit, like he had recently lost some weight.

"Schuester!" Blaine called as the proprietor walked by.

"Mr. Anderson. What can I get you?"

Blaine suppressed a smirk at the man's immediate response.

"Who's that?" he asked, waving a hand at the stage.

"Our performer?" Schuester asked, a bit stunned. Blaine Anderson usually came for the drinks, but never showed any interest in the talent, or anyone else, before.

Blaine just raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Ah – his name is Kurt Hummel. He started here last month."

"Where's he from?"

"In town."

"That all?"

"I don't ask too many questions. All I need is for them to be able to sing."

"Alright. That's all."

Schuester opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, but then thought better of it and left.

Blaine drained his drink and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Puck," he said, waving over his bodyguard. "We're done here."

…

"Hey, boss."

"Santana," Blaine greeted us he shucked his overcoat.

She was seated in the front room, legs crossed, looking immaculate as ever in a business suit and a slicked back ponytail.

"You're here late," he said, then sat down in the armchair across from her.

"Just wanted to see if you need anything before you called it a night."

"You've never been that considerate."

Santana just smirked a sweet little smirk of hers.

"But now that you are here – I need you to find me everything about Kurt Hummel. Where he's from, whose his family, any skeletons in the closet."

"Hummel. Okay. What's he's – a new, idealic cop we have to deal with?"

"Not exactly," Blaine said. He stood up and started toward the grand staircase. It was time to sleep. Santana stood too.

"What you came here for," Blaine said over his shoulder when he reached the bottom step. "Is it about Brittany?"

"Yes."

"Tell Wes tomorrow morning. It will be taken care of."

It was quiet and Blaine didn't acknowledge it, but she said it, always, anyway. "Thank you."

…

"Kurt Hummel," Santana said, flipping open a manila folder. It had been two days since their midnight meeting, but Blaine had come down stairs this morning to find Santana sitting at the dining room, sipping coffee and eating pastry, from the breakfast his housekeeper – Mrs. Hudson – had set out.

"Age twenty," she said.

"Young," Blaine commented.

"Mother deceased, in a car accident that seem s to be a legitimate accident. Father, Burt Hummel, auto mechanic. Runs his own shop, all on the up and up. Kurt, currently employed as a singer at New Directions Tavern, although –," Santana pegged Blaine with a look, "I assume you already knew that."

Santana flipped through a few pages. "I've got his school records here. Nothing outstanding. Good student, overall… then comes the interesting part."

"You're pulling me along," Blaine commented.

"I just like my work to be appreciated."

"Don't I pay you enough?"

"Hmm, one would think."

"On with the 'interesting part' please."

"Well, three months ago, his father had a heart attack. The man was in a coma for several days. Didn't think he would pull through, but he did. Two months ago, the Hummel's sell their house. Their business is going under without Burt healthy enough to run it. Turns out Burt Hummel needs a transplant, until he works his way up that transplant list, his treatment is very expensive, on top of all those other medical bills they're paying from Burt's first stay in the hospital."

Blaine put down his fork. "Good job."

Santana stood and tugged straight her shirt. "I'd ask what you wanted that for, but I know you wouldn't tell me. But I'm going to take one of these back for **B**rittany," she said, plucking up another pastry and wrapping it in a clothe napkin. "They're divine."

…

Blaine sat with the folder of information on this Kurt Hummel, reading it through and though. Santana was right in that he wouldn't have answered the question of what he this for, but not for the reasons she would believe. Truthfully, he didn't know. As a crime lord, he had to have good reasons for each of his carefully calculated moves – to keep in power, to keep a step ahead of the authorities and his rivals, too keep the respect and loyalty of his the men and women that worked under him, and keep the fear of the public. Kurt Hummel didn't fit into any of that.

Yet Blaine couldn't get the boy off his mind.

"Sir, may I interrupt."

Blaine snapped Kurt's folder shut and looked up to see his second-in-command Wes standing in the doorway to Blaine's office.

"Do come in, and shut the door."

When Wes came to sit across from Blaine, Wes said, "The Smyth clan is becoming active again."

"The Smyths are nothing. Their head is a senile, old man – ever since his son died from an _unfortunate_ case of food poisoning three years ago," Blaine said, and Wes smirked at the memory.

"Well, the long lost grandson has come back from school in Europe and they are treating him like the return of the Messiah."

Blaine placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. "Do we know anything about him?"

"Apparently he's a cocky little shit."

Blaine chuckled at Wes' bluntness. "Keep an ear to the ground. We'll squash him quickly if he tries anything."

Wes nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And pull on connections to find out everything you can about the Smyth heir."

"Know thy enemy," Wes said.

Blaine leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, eyes closed. When they opened, Wes was still sitting there, making no indication of leaving.

"Something else, Wes?"

Wes shifted forward in his chair. "Blaine – " he started and Blaine knew with the use of his given name it was a shift from a business visit into a friend visit. "This is a tough business. Harsh. Cruel. And if you don't have something to balance that out… I mean, I have Laura –"

"Wes," Blaine started.

"Please, hear me out," Wes said. When Blaine did nothing more to silence him, he continued. "I'm not saying that you should go out and fall in love. I understand why you wouldn't want to after Jer-. The point is, you need something to find joy in. It could be a pet cat or a model plane building for all I care. Just something."

Blaine blinked and Wes was tense.

"I'll take it under consideration."

…

It had been a week since Blaine had first spied Kurt Hummel when he found himself back again at New Directions. He had Santana confirm that the boy would be performing again this night.

"Should I arrange for a guest to stay over?" she had replied with a coy, raised eyebrow.

"Enough."

Santana said nothing more, but was undeterred in her attitude.

"Mis – Mister Anderson," Schuester fumbled. He seemed flustered. "Can I help you?"

"My usual drink… and that Hummel kid, send him over here when he's done on stage."

"Kurt?" Schuester asked, a wrinkled forehead betraying his confusion. "Why? I mean – he's just a –"

"It's not your business why," Blaine said, voice going dark. "Just send him over."

Schuester must've been shaken, for he instantly agreed and then disappeared. He even sent the bartender, Finn, over with Blaine's drink rather than coming himself. Finn was the housekeeper's, Mrs. Hudson's son, although Blaine had never had more than a few, brief interactions with him. He was dimwitted and harmless. Blaine had gotten him this job here, steady and out of the way of violence, as a favor to Mrs. Hudson, who had been nothing but a loyal and dependable member of his household for years.

Kurt was on stage again at the moment. His voice was high and clear and full of emotion. Not the voice you'd expect from a young man, but that was part of the intrigue.

The set didn't end for a half hour. Kurt left the stage to moderate applause to be replaced by that popular girl. Rachel, she introduced herself.

A few moments later, Schuester was walking over with the boy at his side. They stopped at the edge of his table. Up close, the young man looked tired, but no less handsome.

"Kurt, this is Mr. Anderson. Mr. Anderson, Kurt."

Kurt nodded silently. He seemed anxious, but that made sense. Catching Blaine Anderson's attention had the high potential for danger.

"Have a seat," Blaine said, directing the statement to Kurt, then to Schuester. "That is all."

Blaine always sat with his back against the wall, his table cinched against the side wall and a pillar running up the wall. He had already moved the other chair, usually unoccupied to next to his side of the table.

Kurt stiffly moved around the table and sat down. Blaine leaned back in his chair and surveyed the young man up close. He was pleased with what he saw.

"You know who I am," Blaine said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Kurt blinked down and up, drawing Blaine's attention to the boy's long lashes.

"Good," he said, punctuating his statement by putting down his empty glass. "I know who you are too."

"I'm no one," Kurt replied, startled.

"True," Blaine conceded. "You're father though…" Kurt's eyes snapped up to meet Blaine's. "He's ill, isn't he? Bad heart. Lots of unpaid medical bills. Needs a transplant. Business going under. Had to sell your house."

"So?" Kurt said. Blaine supposed it was meant to come out as a challenge, but there was a tremor in his voice, and a hand gripped tightly on the chair's edge. Maybe Blaine didn't pay Santana enough.

"So… I can take care of all that. I have enough money to pay all the bills. Have enough _respect_ to get your father's name moved up the transplant list."

Kurt remained silent. Blaine continued, "Of course, I don't give out such favors without something given in return."

"But –" the boy started. He must have felt some gift was being dangled in front of him only to be snatched away. "I have nothing."

"Oh, Kurt," he said, quiet obviously surveying the young man's body up and down. "You have a lot to give."

Kurt had followed his gaze and looked up at Blaine in shock. "You want me?"

"I have a stressful job. I need something to balance it out."

The boy took a shuddering breath. "What exactly are you proposing?" There was a sense of defeat in those words.

A thrill of victory stung through Blaine's nerves.

"I do all I said I could… take care of your debts, bills, get your father the best doctors in the city. Get him that heart. In return, you're mine. You'll live in my house and stay out of the way except for when I have need of you."

He saw Kurt's Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulped.

"Okay," Kurt whispered. "I'll do it."

* * *

**Aki- So, do you like it?**

**Also, I have the next chapter written, but I have to type it up (and also, I have to finish another Klaine fanfiction, but it is a few chapters from completion, but I am just going to fluctuate between working on this one and that one).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Kurt knew from the second he agreed that it was probably the worst decision of his life, but what could be do? His father was dying. He needed medicine. He needed doctors. And he needed a heart. They were already in the red financially, both personally and with the business. His dad couldn't work. Kurt had found a job only recently, but it only paid enough to keep him and his father from day to day.

He never imagined he'd find himself sitting across from the Blaine Anderson in his life. At once the man was what he expected and what he didn't expect. Objectively, Blaine was handsome, but Kurt couldn't find him attractive or alluring. Not with his aura of coldness and the vile he seemed to exude. Not with the way he was leering.

Dad would never have wanted to make a deal with a literal devil for him, but Kurt wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he let a chance to save his father pass him by.

"Perfect," Blaine said after Kurt agreed to his conditions. He leaned close, gripped Kurt's chin and pressed a rough, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. Kurt didn't react except for a desperate squeak made in his throat. This was it; sealed with a kiss.

"Come on," Blaine said as he stood and picked his hat up from the table. Kurt didn't react immediately and Blaine grabbed him by the wrist. Kurt stood, before Blaine had any need to tug him up.

"Puck, get the car." A muscular man with a mohawk who was standing several set away nodded and headed out the door.

Blaine Anderson intended to start this arrangement now. Kurt knew it took him too many minutes to figure that out, but it made sense. If not now, when?

Blaine hadn't let go of his wrist and started towards the door.

"Wait," Kurt said, surprised he could speak at all. "My – my stuff is in the break room."

Blaine released his hold. "Hurry up," he said, sounding irritated, but not dangerous.

Kurt scurried off. No one was in the break room as he got his overcoat, wallet, and keys. He didn't want to talk to anyone, because he didn't think he could manage to explain.

Blaine was waiting for him by the door and when Kurt joined him, the man said, "Let's go," and then weaved an arm around Kurt's waist. Kurt inhaled sharply, because for all he knew what he was going to do with this man, this felt achingly intimate. He looked over at Blaine and realized for the first time that he was taller than him.

Outside, a sleek, black car was awaiting them. Blaine pulled open the back door and said, "Get in," and it was like a parody of someone holding a door open.

The car ride was silent. The man named Puck was driving. Kurt kept glancing quickly sideways at Blaine and then back at his lap, where he was tangling his fingers together anxiously. Whenever he looked, Blaine was staring out the window and not at him.

It was a good half hour or more – Kurt was too lost in his nerves to keep a good count of the time – until they arrived. They were on the edge of the city and the house before him was a mansion. If his eyes grew as wide as plates as he climbed out of the car, Blaine didn't say anything about it.

Next thing, they were through the front door and in the entry hall, putting coats in the closet. Puck had been dismissed to leave once he parked the car.

"This way," Blaine said with a jerk of his head. Kurt followed him down the hall and through a large living room that was eclipsed by a wide staircase.

"And my dad?"

"I'll make the call first thing in the morning."

They climbed up the staircase, Kurt behind Blaine, and down a hallway. Blaine paused before a door, opened it, and walked through with no pronouncement. Kurt followed.

"Shut the door."

The bedroom was gigantic, bigger than the current cramped apartment he had his father were living in, well, until his father had to go back in the hospital. Of course, all Kurt could pay attention to was the king size bed was Blaine sitting on, kicking off his shoes.

Kurt took a few hesitant steps into the room. Blaine lounged on his bed, eyeing him. Blaine made a motion for Kurt to come closer and then a hand up to stop him when Kurt was a few feet away from the end of his bed.

"Take off your clothes."

Kurt fumbled with his suit jacket. He folded it, and, for lack of a better place, put it on the floor. He then struggled with the buttons of his shirt, but when he finally managed to pull the piece of clothing off, Blaine 'hmmed.' He was palming at his crotch over his pants. Kurt immediately flushed red, so he ducked his head and leaned down to take off his shoes and socks.

When he stood again, his blush had died down to a normal pink. His hands went to the front of his pants and undid the fly and let the slacks fall down. His thumbs hooked around the waistband of his underwear and this would be it, the first time he would be naked in front of a man. He closed his eyes, pushed them down, and steeped out of them.

"Nice… turn around."

Kurt acquiesced, feeling like quite the piece of meat and Blaine's gaze felt like fire. He completed his turn and was back facing Blaine, maybe too soon. The man was leering at him – just exuding lust. In another circumstance, another world, another time, Kurt might have found it flattering. Or, at least, reaffirming. He had spent his teenage years being bullied and feeling awkward as he grew into his skin.

But given _everything_ concerning this circumstance, it was a nightmare.

"Come here," Blaine said with a small jerk of his head. Kurt didn't feel his limbs moving, but next thing he was climbing onto the bed and crawling up to join Blaine at the head. They made a strange couple, with Blaine still fully clothed and Kurt the opposite.

Blaine clawed a hand behind Kurt's neck and a cruel shiver went down Kurt's spine. Blaine pulled him into a heavy, tongue-filled kiss that Kurt let Blaine direct. Even if Kurt had been willing, he wasn't really experienced.

The lips were gone a long moment later, and the mattress shifted as Blaine climbed off the bed and started casually undressing himself.

Kurt wanted to look away or down or something, but he couldn't. Instead, he saw every inch of skin, muscle, hair. Then there it was. Kurt felt himself tense. There, he had seen another man naked.

Blaine climbed back on the bed and he was instantly touching Kurt. One hand traveling up his thigh to the curve of his ass, the other on his chest, thumbing across his nipple, making Kurt gasp.

"Touch me," Blaine breathed heavy into the crook of Kurt's neck. Then, as if to demonstrate, he took Kurt's hand in his and placed it on his cock.

Kurt was trembling now. He had been before, but now it was impossible not to tell, almost vicious, like he was being afflicted by a cold.

Blaine pulled back from where he had been biting and sucking on Kurt's neck. A realization seemed to come to him. "You're a virgin?"

Kurt nodded jerkily. "Yes."

Blaine groaned in appreciation and rolled over on top of Kurt, his hands and mouth all over.

…

Kurt woke the next morning to sunlight making its way through a gap in the curtains, to an empty bed, to being naked, and to aching all over.

He sat up, and Blaine was nowhere to be seen. He heard voices, though, muffled. The bedroom door was just barely ajar. He couldn't make out the words being spoken, but the timber of one voice made him sure it was Blaine, and the other, a woman.

"Just take care of it, will you," came Blaine's voice loudly, and the bedroom door pushed open. Kurt scrambled to make sure he was mostly covered with the blankets.

Standing there was Blaine, hand on the door, already primly dressed looking in with vague disinterest. Kurt sunk in on himself. He already felt a bit like a whore and a bit like a victim, but to see Blaine – his first, as much as he might regret it – looking at him, so unconcerned and unaffected… it was just another punch after the others.

"Hmm, nice," said the female voice – appraising, teasing. She was a stunning Latina woman, and she strode into the room on perilously high heels. She came upright to the edge of the bed and stuck out a hand.

"Santana Lopez."

"Umm, Kurt Hummel," he said, shaking her hand.

"I know," she said. "And today I'm going to help you get settled here, like I'm a goddamn nanny or something."

"Santana," Blaine growled.

"But I'll be doing it anyway."

"Good," Blaine said, and then he left without a word or look to Kurt.

"Okay, lover boy," Santana said, and she was toeing at a piece of Kurt's clothing on the floor. "The bathroom is there." She pointed at a door on the opposite wall that Kurt had missed last night. "You can get cleaned up in there and then, I guess put in your walk of shame clothes for now. I'll meet you in the sitting room," she glanced at her diamond studded watch, "In a half hour."

Kurt didn't say anything.

Santana peaked an eyebrow. "We clear?"

Kurt nodded.

"Good, get to." With that, she exited the room and shut the door with a snap behind her.

Kurt blinked a few times and maybe sat there for a good couple of minutes, trying to process everything. It had all gone so fast last night, and now he was here.

He stumbled out of the bed and automatically winced as pain shot up his spine. Definitely not a virgin anymore. The thought made him laugh out. It wasn't a happy sound.

The bathroom was large, marvelous and marble, but Kurt didn't have the time nor the spirit to wonder at it. He further stumbled into the shower. He turned the water scorching hot. He just stood in the stream of the water for a while and let it beat down on him.

…

Twenty-five minutes later, his hair was damp and he was back in his clothes, which were wrinkled and felt awkward against his skin. Santana was waiting for him, as promised, downstairs. She stood as he descended the last step.

"Breakfast," she said with the sweep of her arm, leading him off to the adjoined dining room, where an array of food was set out.

Kurt sat stiffly down on a chair, hissing in pain. He looked at the platters before him – pastries, scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh cut fruit.

"I'm not very hungry," Kurt said, staring down at his plate. Just then his stomach released a tiny growl. Alright, so maybe he was hungry, but he didn't have much of an appetite.

"You looked half starved, eat." Kurt ended up choosing half a grapefruit and a small Danish.

"Done? Good. Time for the tour." With that Santana started giving him a run down of the house and where he could and couldn't go. Dining room – breakfast and dinner were always served. Want anything anytime else, go to the kitchen and fend for yourself. The room he had already went through enough times was the main sitting room. He was welcome to explore the fully furbished gym in the basement and the stocked library upstairs. Most of the guest bedrooms are empty, but please keep to your own. Feel free to sit on the porch or wander the grounds when it was daylight, but don't even imagine leaving the property without express permission.

"You know Blaine's bedroom, of course." Santana paused in front of a particular wooden door at the end of the hall. "This is Mr. Anderson's office. Never, ever enter without knocking and getting permission to enter first. But considering you have nothing to do with Blaine's professional work, I imagine you should wait until he is out of his office to discuss anything with him."

"Is he in there now?"

"I imagine… Do you remember your way to the front door?"

"Of course."

"Good, because I'm done babysitting. Sam is waiting with a car outside to take you to your apartment to collect your things. What you don't bring with you will be moved into your old house that Blaine has procured from the bank."

"My house," Kurt said. "I didn't realize that was part of the deal."

"Mr. Anderson honors all agreements and does nothing halfway. He must have enjoyed you last night."

Kurt blushed and ducked his head.

"For someone who sold his body, you sure get embarrassed easily."

"I didn't really have a choice," Kurt shot back.

"People always have a choice."

"Sometimes it looks that way, it looks like you have a choice, but there's really only one option."

Santana raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Whatever. Sam is waiting."

…

Sam, it turned out, was a young man, like Blaine, maybe younger. He looked younger because he smiled. He was cute, Kurt would even admit, but his hair was obviously bleached.

"Here we are," Sam said, as he pulled up to the apartment building Kurt and his father – before his re-hospitalization – had been staying. It wasn't quite "home" but it had all the pieces of home: knickknacks, photos, all those things with sentimental value. Stepping in the front door, it was hard to know where to start.

Clothes, he decided, because he knew he'd be taking them. He went to his room and started emptying his closet and bureau into his suitcases.

"Tell me what I can do to help," Sam said, but Kurt wanted to do this by himself. It was a big moment in his life. It was private. So Sam was left to wait until Kurt filled bags and boxes for Sam to carry out to the SUV.

After he was done with his clothing, he got the other things he needed – the framed photographs he kept in his room, a locket that had been his mother's, a stuffed bear from his childhood that he kept in his closet and had never thrown away all these years.

"That all?" Same asked as Kurt carried the last bad out of his bedroom.

"Yeah, but could you wait in the car and give a moment alone?"

"I'm not supposed to leave you alone," Sam said apologetically.

"I'm not going to run away," Kurt retorted.

"It's not about just that, Mr. Hummel," Sam said. "You're with Mr. Anderson now. You need protection."

"Oh, I didn't think about that… Just stay out her, and give me a minute." With that he strode over to the door of his father's bedroom and went in. He stepped up to a petite, white-painted vanity that seemed so out of the place among the rest of the solid, no frills décor of the room. It had been his mother's vanity.

Kurt ran his fingers along the edge of the vanity and they came away dusty. He tugged open the middle drawer and a faint, flowery scent reached his nose. When he had been just a little child, he had spilled some of his mother's favorite perfume there.

Kurt plopped down on his father's made bed and turned his face into the pillow. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry… damn it. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Mr. Hummel," Sam called from the main room.

"Coming," Kurt said, voice especially high.

He stood back up, shut the vanity drawer, and left the room.

…

"Sam, can I ask you something? You don't have to answer," Kurt said on the ride back to the Anderson estate.

"Sure, Mr. Hummel."

"You can call me Kurt."

He saw Sam grin, although he never took his attention off the road. "All right, Kurt… but I'll still call you Mr. Hummel in front of Mr. Anderson it that's alright."

Kurt nodded, but his lip, then decided to ask. "Why – why do you work for Mr. Anderson. I mean, your easily the nicest person I've met since being here… and it just doesn't seem to fit."

"For the money," Sam said around a laugh. "It sounds horrible, but it's true. I'm not smart – got that dyslexia, so I never really was good at school. I ended up dropping out when my parents lost their jobs and we needed the money. I got a little brother and sister to take care of."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Sam said with a shrug. "I don't hurt anyone. I just drive you or Ms. Lopez or sometimes other guests of Mr. Anderson's. Never Mr. Anderson. That's out of my pay grade. Mostly I keep the cars in the garage in good shape. Cars always made sense to me when letters and numbers didn't."

"Oh, I know cars," Kurt said, suddenly excited. "My dad's a mechanic. He taught me a few things."

"Well, come down to the garage sometime. I'll show you some real beauties that Mr. Anderson has there."

"Really? I wouldn't want to be a nuisance."

"Nah, I mostly bored all day anyway."

"Thanks, Sam," Kurt said. "I'm glad I won't be completely alone here."

…

Kurt and Sam were halfway through trudging his stiff into his guest bedroom, just a door down from Blaine's, when, speak of the devil, there he was.

"Sam, finished with the luggage. Kurt – Come here."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was tough being Blaine Anderson, and he wasn't just saying that. Ultimately, it all came back to him, and one miscalculation, any crack to be exploited, and there could be a fall from power. And this Smyth kid, he could be more trouble than he thought. Even the morale of just having a new figure head could be a lot by itself.

Just this morning, Blaine had ordered some 'reminders' being sent out to some less cooperative business owners. It was barely noon, and he was exhausted and coiled up tight. He walked out of his office and down the maim hall, perhaps a short nap in his future, and then he spotted him. Kurt. His personal stress relief.

"Sam," he said, barely acknowledged the young man. "Finish with the luggage. Kurt – Come here."

Sam nodded a 'yes, sir,' and Kurt, with a touch of hesitance, took a few, slow step towards him. When Kurt was close enough, Blaine reached out and took hold – not hard, just firm – of his wrist and tugged Kurt right into him. He stroked the fingers of his free hand across Kurt's jaw line.

"Let's go," he said, and with a few steps, they were in Blaine's bedroom, and the door was shut behind them.

…

Kurt felt like a rag doll in all of this, moved where he was being moved to be. He was pushed back onto the bed. Blaine was then half on top of his, skewed off to the side. His hand fisted in Kurt's hair, and Kurt couldn't move it because of how tight it was. And he was kissing Kurt urgent and hard. After about half a minutes of this, Blaine's hand unwound from his hair and he pulled away.

"Kiss back," Blaine said, voice rough, then he surged forward. Kurt wasn't an expert at kissing, especially this kind of kissing. So he just pressed forward into Blaine and Blaine grunted in approval. Kurt moved his tongue along Blaine's a bit tentatively, experimentally. And when Blaine started running his hands over Kurt's body, touching anywhere over his clothes, Kurt reached out a settled a hand on the side of Blaine's neck. Hopefully, those few things would be enough.

Several long moments later, they pulled apart, breathless. Kurt was tense, awaiting what came next. Then Blaine collapsed onto Kurt, heaving out a big breath. He had an arm around Kurt's torso, and his head on Kurt's shoulder. His eyes were closed, and after a while, his breathing shifted, slowed. He was asleep, and he was… cuddling.

Kurt was stiff and still in Blaine's embrace. This was unexpected. He couldn't fall asleep himself though, even though he was both physically and emotionally worn out. He busied himself instead with watching the clock on the bedside table count the minutes away.

A little over an hour later Blaine stirred. He rolled off of Kurt and blinked up at the ceiling before sitting up.

"Still three hours until dinner," he commented. Kurt pushed up in his elbows and watched Blaine go over to a mirror and tug straight his clothes.

"Mr. Anderson – "

"Blaine. You can call me Blaine," he said, and it might've been nice if the circumstances were different and his tone had been less disinterested.

Kurt licked him lips and continued. "Blaine… what was that?"

"What?" he said, finally looking at Kurt.

Kurt did a little shrug that motioned at the spot Blaine had been beside him.

"_That_," Blaine said with a particular bite on the ending 't', "Was part of your job."

…

"Really, Blaine? Really?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, Wes. I tend to do several shocking things per day," Blaine replied dryly. "Whiskey," he offered, going over to the liquor table in his office, and opening a glass bottle from the most recent shipment from Canada. He didn't wait for an answer and poured Wes a glass anyway.

"When I said get something to balance out your life, I didn't mean blackmail some kid to be your boy toy."

"Santana tell you?"

"She don't mind so much, but she figured I should know."

Blaine held out the glass of whiskey out to Wes, but Wes didn't reach out to take it. Blaine set it on the desk.

"One of the first things you did when you came into power was to completely take away rape as a fear tactic. And I so respected that – and here you are, raping someone."

"I didn't rape him," Blaine flared up. "It was consensual."

"You threatened his father's life."

"No, I gave him a way to save his father's life."

"Same difference," Wes scoffed. "Without him letting you fuck him, his father dies."

"No, it's not the _same difference_. It's a lot of difference. I gave him something in exchange for services provided."

"Oh, great, at the worst its rape, at the best, it's prostitution."

Blaine slammed his glass down. "What did you want here, Wes?"

Wes didn't look intimidated or impressed in the least. "Just want to make you think about it, is all… Good night."

…

Kurt spent that second night at the Anderson estate in his guest bedroom. It was less grand than Blaine's but still pretty magnificent. A double bed, satin sheets, a plush rug, a big closet, its own attached bathroom, all hard wood furniture. It wasn't home, but it was being put up in style. It was little consolation.

He had eaten alone. He met Mrs. Hudson, who was much too sweet – like Sam – to be working for the Andersons. In bed, Kurt waited, awake, and eventually fell asleep. At some point, it past the 24 hour mark of being there, since his arrangement. Although he hadn't fallen asleep until well past midnight, he woke early, feeling well rested. He had a dreamless sleep.

…

"I want to see my father," Kurt said. They were the only two at breakfast. It was the first time they had eaten tighter, and, of course, it had to be alone and awkwardly quiet.

"It's only been two days. He won't have gotten any better yet," Blaine said, looking over top of his newspaper.

"I don't care. I just want to see him."

"Why?" And he didn't sound contrary at all.

"He's my father," Kurt said.

Blaine made a face of distaste, more to himself that anyone, then flipped his newspaper back up to cover his face.

"If you can find Sam, have him take you."

Kurt did find Sam later that day, in the early afternoon. Making his way to the garage wasn't hard, even if he hadn't been shown the way by Santana. Sam tried to start conversation a few times on the ride to the hospital, but Kurt was not very responsive. It hadn't really been that long since he last saw his father, but he usually visited daily, even with his father constantly telling him not to. That he would hurt his own health and end up in the hospital bed next to him, and then where would they be?

Sam parked and walked in with Kurt. Kurt got directions from the nurse's station to his father's new room. It was up two floors and through a tangle of hallways.

"I'll wait out here," Sam volunteered, when they reached a door with a placard that matched the number the nurse had given them.

"Thanks, Sam," Kurt said on a sigh.

Kurt paused with his hand on the doorknob, then turned it slowly, as if he were purposefully trying not to make much noise. He creaked open the door and slide into the room.

"Kurt?" It was father's voice, surprised, slightly weary, but so familiar.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said with a small smile.

"Hey, Kid, I've been wondering where you been."

Kurt went over to the bed, and leaned over to give his dad a hug, careful of wires and IV lines.

"Pull up a seat," Burt insisted, and Kurt did, giving his father a once over. He was the same looking as when Kurt had last seen him, thinner than his usually hardy self and tired looking around his eyes. "I've been trying to call you, but no one picked up."

Cell phones had been a luxury they had given up when money got tight, relying instead on the phone in their apartment solely.

"I haven't been home much lately," Kurt said. "I'll have to get you a new number, actually…"

"Are you living somewhere else?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time," Burt said, his brow furrowed somewhat. "What's going on? I mean, the other day they're suddenly moving me to a private room, have a new, private practice doctor… those are expensive. Then I can't even get a hold of you." Burt let out a huff of laughter. "Did you win the lottery or something?"

"Or something," Kurt said evasively.

"Kurt," Burt scolded in a way that was much too fatherly and still worked on Kurt too well even though he was an adult. A twenty year old.

"Look, Dad," Kurt said, ducking his head and then looking back up, "You took care of me my whole life. After Mom died, by yourself. You accepted me—"

"Of course I did! You're my son, and I love you," Burt protested.

"I know, Dad, and I love you too," Kurt said. "But now you're sick, and it's my turn to take care of you. And I'm going to take care of you."

"What're you saying?"

"I was barely getting by, but an opportunity presented itself, and I jumped on said opportunity, and… now you have a private room and the best doctor in the city."

"What did you do, Kurt?" Burt said, and it sounded a little accusatory, but more concerned. "There's a bad ways to go down in the town. I've always tried to keep you away from them all that – "

"I know, Dad," Kurt interrupted. "I'm not naive."

"Tell me what's going on, Kurt."

"Dad, I'm doing what I have to do," Kurt said, clutching Burt's arm in his hand. "I'm not hurting anyone. You know I could never do that. It's not criminal… It's just… It's what I have to do. And if it means your life, I don't regret it, ever."

"Kurt…"

"I have to go," Kurt said, and his voice was a bit hollow, like holding back too much, because he was afraid if he didn't leave then, he would end up spilling it all.

…

Santana was waiting for Kurt in the main sitting room when he came in the front door.

"Hey, Boy Toy, there's going to be a meeting here tonight, so if you could stay upstairs this evening so you don't hear anything that is meant for your ears. It's in everyone's best interest. Dinner will be brought up to you."

With that Kurt was shooed upstairs for the late afternoon and evening. He couldn't really get himself to care. He was still in the hospital with his father, feeling those worried and judgmental eyes on him. He may have been saving his father's life, but he doubted his dad would be proud of him.

* * *

Aki- So, a couple things...

Do you think this story should have a M rating? Right now it is at T.

Also, I might retroactively add chapter titles.

Also also, what are your chapter feels... long chapters with less frequent updates or short chapters with more frequent updates? Or should I just do whatever the hell I feel like it per chapter?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was usual for Blaine to have a monthly meeting that brought together his top capos, each heading one of the five boroughs of New York. Then there was Wes, of course, and Santana. She might seem to most to be a Personal Assistant, but she was more than that, and he relied on her and trusted her probably more than most others.

Blaine's father, the late boss of their organization, had his capos as well, but only gathered them when there was trouble or tension. Blaine changed that, amongst other things, once he took power. Keep your underlings close. That was his motto. There was a certain loyalty that comes with fear, but a mix of fear and respect with a touch of camaraderie, that was the perfect mix. Make them afraid to betray you, but also make them not to want to.

It helped that most of the capos owed him a lot. He had replaced most of positions of power after his father's passing with young people, like himself, rather than leaving his father's men in. Men who might not think a young man, like Blaine was, would be the proper head of their little crime family. Men who might try to set up a coup for their own power. Blaine chose people that were loyal to him.

The first to arrive was Artie, his man from the Bronx. He had been put in the wheelchair a few years ago after he survived a car accident that had been orchestrated to kill him. If anything, it made him more resilient and his enemies more afraid of him. Blaine shook his hand after he rolled into the dining room, where one of the chairs from the dinning set had been removed for Artie to sit.

Next to arrive was Quinn from Queens. She gave Blaine one of those mock kiss on the cheek like she was French or something. Puck, who in charge of the front door, because security was always needed when so many of them were gathered in one place – as if anyone had the tenacity to dare break in the Anderson estate – shifted awkwardly. He and Quinn had something of a relationship at one point, when they were youths. Puck, although good enough to work for Blaine himself, was always going to be muscle, but Quinn was something else. She had a leadership quality in where she could get people to do things for her.

Tina and Mike came in a pair, as always, hands intertwined. They were probably the sole example of those who work in organized crime together, stay together. They both had been working themselves up in the ranks in the Manhattan area, eventually in heated competition with each other. Somewhere along the line, they fell in love. It seemed fitting then, that the headed the Manhattan branch of Blaine's organization, because as ferocious as they were working against each other, all the better were they working together.

David was an old friend, like Wes, that Blaine had grown up with. All three of them had been raised and pruned to work in the mob. Blaine, of course, the most so. He shook hands with all present, and with Wes and Blaine shared an extra special nod. He was in charge of Brooklyn, a good claim, and he handled it well, ever calm and level-headed.

"Well then," Blaine said, taking a seat at the head of the table. Wes was sitting at his right hand and Santana at his left. Yes, it was symbolic, and he liked it that way. "Let's begin."

"_She's_ not here yet," Quinn said coolly, her expression stony.

"Well, we all know Ms. Sylvester runs by her own schedule," Wes said, and Blaine was thankful for it.

"I don't know why you put up with her," Artie said from the opposite end of the table, and it didn't come across as accusatory, but it raised Blaine's hackles nonetheless.

"It's not really relevant to the matters at hand," Blaine said, enunciating the words carefully and his voice dangerously low.

There was a hush around the table, none daring to speak first.

"Except it is when she doesn't show up when she's supposed to," Quinn said, leveling a look at Blaine to say that she wasn't afraid of him, at least, not enough to be silent at his conjuncture.

"Yeah," Mike said across the table, which annoyed Blaine because the man usually sided with Blaine. "How're we supposed to be successful when we're done and out on a team member." Tina nodded in agreement.

It was times like these when Blaine regretted having somewhat of friendships with these people rather than fearful lackeys.

"Look, when it comes to the end of the day, Sue does what needs to be done," Blaine said.

"We've discussed this all before," David added, probably hoping to end the discussion. At least Blaine could count on some loyalty. If Wes or David ever had a problem with Blaine, they would discuss it with him one-on-one.

"If one of your capo refuses to respect you, how can you expect anyone else to," Quinn shot back.

"What crawled up your ass, Fabray," Santana said from Blaine's side.

"Santana," Blaine whispered as a reprimand, because she looked ready to leap across the table and strangle Quinn, and Quinn was glaring right back at her. And if these two got in a fight, there would be blood split, not a doubt about it.

"You're only here to take notes, so why don't you shut up about matters you don't understand," Quinn shot back.

"Now, ladies, this is unnecessary."

"Don't condescend to me, Wesley," Santana shot back.

"Can we all just calm down?" Tina said, but Wes, Santana, and Quinn were in a three way bickering match. David was agreeing with Tina's assessment, but Artie brought up that they really should talk about the Sue issue if it is causing so much dissent, with Mike agreeing with him.

The room filled with chattered, the brim of noise rising with Blaine irritation until he snapped, stood, and yelled, "Quiet!"

Everyone instantly silenced. Blaine was breathing heaving, and he was scary when he meant to be. "Sue is here for three reasons that have all been discussed before. One, it is necessary to have someone from my father's regime to create continuity. Two, we all know that she would be more trouble if she was stripped of her power and started working against us than when she is working for us. And three—"

"My impeccable record?" Sue said, sauntering into the room.

"You're late," Blaine bite.

"Well, I was busy taking a stem cell mud bath," she said, pulled out a care, swinging it around, and sitting down in it backwards. "Keeps me young. Which is good, because if the yelling I heard when I came in was any indication, you are going to need me a long time to help you schoolchildren run a proper mafia."

"I think Blaine does a fine job," Quinn said. Everyone at the talk looked at her oddly. Her face betrayed nothing. "We should get down to business, shouldn't we?" she glanced up at Blaine, and it wasn't shrewd at all, and almost kind of honest.

"Ah, yes," Blaine said, clearing his throat and taking his seat. "Sebastian Smyth. I'm sure you've all heard of his glorious return to town by now." He paused to see them all nod. "Courses of action?"

"A hit," Artie said, plainly.

"It would nip it in the bud," Tina said.

"And what, spark a mob war?" David countered.

"That we'd easily win," Quinn added with a flicker of her hair.

"The police are placated if all things stay as they are," Wes said, cutting into the conversation. "But if a lot people, especially bystanders, get killed as result of a mob war, that gives them reason to crack down."

"But don't the police eat out of our hand?" Mike said.

"Not if they bring feds in," Blaine said, though nodding to concede Mike's point.

"That's whole new organization, a better organization, that'd we'd have to divert resources to bribing, blackmailing…," said Wes, knowing it was what Blaine was thinking.

"But we could do it," Artie said. "We have enough money, influence, power. The feds would wish to be as strong and organized as us."

"They're not going to send feds to this god-forsaken island," Quinn said derisively. "The federal government gave up on mainland America years ago. Sure, every new president says they are going to clean up crime, but then they get in office and realize they can't do it. They can't even clean up corruption in DC."

"Lucky for us," Tina quipped.

"Lucky for us," Blaine repeated, than he looked over to Santana in a purposeful way and asked, "Santana. Any thoughts?" It, like most of his actions, had meaning, to tell everyone in the room that Santana was there because he valued her.

"Well, a hit would have been my first choice," she snarked, getting a few titters from around the room. "But..."

"Yes?"

"We don't even know if Smyth is a threat yet. I mean, this could all be talk, and he could end up being incompetent."

That comment sparked another round of discussion on the nature of waiting to see if Sebastian Smyth proved worthy of their attention, and the danger of waiting too long and him being a threat that was too big to handle. In the end, the conversation became something of a stalemate.

"Okay, here's where we stand," Blaine announced, because they were getting nowhere. "You tell your people to pay attention. If the Smyth organization starts trying to move too much business, does anything out of the ordinary, steps over any boundary, you squash it. Then you get it to Santana, who will get it to me. If we see what he's doing… then we can reassess his 'threat' status."

There was a snort down the table.

Blaine cocked his head, and said, "Unless Sue has something to say. You have been uncharacteristically quiet."

"Nope, hobbit," Sue said standing. "This was just the total waste of an evening." And then she walked out.

Everyone looked at him. "Let's call it a night."

…

Blaine came to Kurt when he was sleeping. Kurt startled awake when he felt a weight on his bed. He wasn't usually a light sleeper, but he was when he was somewhere new. Kurt's eyes fluttered open to see Blaine sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at him. Blaine brushed some of Kurt's bangs off his forehead.

"Come with me." Blaine stood and held out a hand.

Kurt sat up and rubbed at his eyes. It was late, pitch black out. He observed Blaine for silent moment, still in his suit that he had been in at breakfast, a few curls of hair now loose from his gelled part. He took Blaine's hand.

Blaine pulled him out of bed and led him to his own bedroom just next door. Blaine sat him down on the edge of the bed and, with perilously careful hands, undressed Kurt from his pajamas. Kurt, still half asleep, couldn't help but get tingles up his spine by the soft glide of Blaine's fingers on his skin.

Blaine shoved Kurt back onto the bed. Then he was on the bed too, between Kurt's legs. And then… holy shit. Kurt's gripped the sheets in his fist. Blaine was giving him a blow job.

Kurt felt his breathing get harder and harder without his consent, and then he released a groan. This was pleasurable. Not like that first night. While a virgin, he was educated enough about sex – his dad had been insistent on that – to know that Blaine had taken his time and the appropriate steps to prepare him. He still hadn't enjoyed it, even if it hadn't been as painful as he had thought it would be. But this… he didn't know half the things Blaine was doing with his mouth and tongue to make Kurt feel this good, and he was in no mind to understand them.

Kurt was making small little noises, mewls and the like, things he was almost embarrassed to make. Sounds he hadn't ever made before. With a final grasp, he came. Brian sidled up beside Kurt, and began rustling with his own clothes. Blaine moved Kurt's hand, like the first night, to his penis. His hand outside of Kurt's he directed it up and down. After he got Kurt at the pace he wanted, he let go. Kurt, hesitant for a moment, continued the pumping action. He knew what was wanted of him. Blaine was panting hot into his neck.

A few minutes later, it was over, and Kurt pulled his hand away and wiped it on the sheets. He moved to get up, but Blaine wrapped an arm around him.

"Stay," Blaine whispered.

…

When Kurt woke up the next morning, and he felt sick. Blaine was still asleep, but he had rolled off Kurt sometime in the night and was off on his side of the bed, blankets down around his waist. Kurt remembered the night before vividly. He remembered liking it. And it made his nauseous and it made hurt inside.

He got out of bed quickly and gathered his clothes. He didn't want Blaine to wake up and call him back. After pulling on his pajama bottoms, he scurried out of the room and back to his own, where he planned to take a long shower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Kurt couldn't bring himself to visit his father again. There was something about facing the man he respected and loved so much in person that was way too intimidating. Because he knows he would spill all of it under the concerned eyes of his father, but he can't. For father's health, he couldn't have his heart under stress, and for Kurt's own good as well.

He called regularly though, because on the phone there was a certain emotional distance as well as the physical.

"They feeding you well?" Kurt joked over the phone after sharing greetings during one late morning phone call.

"Hospital food is hospital food, but they will only feed damn rabbit food," Burt replied.

Kurt laughed. "I've been trying to tell you for years, salads are good for you."

"I refuse to believe it!"

"So, um, how're feeling?"

Burt sighed, and it came across as static-y over the phone. "Okay," he said. "They told me they're still waiting for a donor, but until then they're flying in a specialist from Johns Hopkins to consider alternate treatments."

"Oh, well, that's good, at least. You're getting the best care."

"Like a millionaire," Burt said, and it was undercut with a tension and questioning.

"Dad, please," Kurt said, "We're having a nice conversation here."

"Well, I think it would be nice to know how you're managing to pay for all this," Burt said.

"I told you before," Kurt said high voice a bit high and a bit tight. "I'm taking care of you, and it doesn't matter how."

"Of course it matters!" Burt roared and Kurt jolted where he sat.

"Dad, your heart," Kurt pleaded.

"Damn my heart, Kurt," Burt said. "If you're doing something that is hurting you or is going to get you in trouble— "

"I told you a hundred times, I can take care of myself."

"That's not an answer, Kurt," Burt said tersely.

"Well, that's the best answer you're going to get, Dad," Kurt shot back.

"Kurt –" Burt started and his voice was more desperate.

"I have to go, Dad," Kurt snapped, and he hung up. He wished so many of his conversations with his dad didn't end this way, but it seemed almost all of them did now. His hands were shaking when he put the phone back in its cradle, anxious with emotion.

"Shouting match in the library?"

Kurt jerked his head up to see Blaine standing the open doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his dress slacks. The library, as Kurt had discovered a few days into his life at the estate, was one of his favorite hideaways. Others didn't use it very often and there was a certain solace being surrounded by books, if nothing else. It was certainly a good way to waste away the hours.

"Could you just leave me alone?" Kurt snapped, and then clenched his jaw shut the second after.

Blaine raised his eyebrows, but looked unperturbed. He shrugged and turned and started down the hall. Kurt had the inexplicably urge to yell after him. To ask what was with him. Blaine Anderson who was distant and then affectionate a moment later, but he couldn't, because was there an answer? And how could it possibly be satisfying?

But that didn't stop Kurt from standing, taking a few long strides to the doorway, and shouting something else, something just as bothersome.

"Why me?"

Blaine paused and looked over his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Why me? Kurt repeated, a little less loud, a little less assured, but without a waiver.

Blaine closed the space in the hall between them, standing well into Kurt's personal space. Even though being so close only made it more obvious the few inches Kurt had on Blaine, it didn't make Kurt feel any more in control. Blaine caught Kurt's chin with the side of his ring finger and brushed his thumb over Kurt's lips.

"You're beautiful," Blaine said.

"So," Kurt replied, Blaine's thumb still lightly pressed against his mouth. "They're a lot of beautiful people. And you have enough money to get someone voluntarily."

Blaine dropped his hand and it was splayed across the side of his neck and chin. "Maybe I don't want someone voluntarily."

"Why?" Kurt said, barely daring. Blaine finally looked up from when he was staring at Kurt's mouth to look him right in the eye.

"Because someone voluntary can leave."

A shiver went down Kurt's shine at that confession, but before he fully process it, Blaine was directing him in for a kiss. He was moving his lips against Kurt's and sliding his tongue into Kurt's mouth. Kurt didn't resist, because he had just heard it. He couldn't leave.

…

"Hey, Kurt."

"Hi, Sam," Kurt replied as he came down the steps into the large garage. "How're you?"

"Just cleaning up," Sam said, and it was true, he was wiping car grease off his hands with a rag.

"Do they give you enough work to keep you busy down here?" Kurt asked.

"Well, Mr. Anderson has a lot of cars. And I have to keep them all in check, make sure no one has sabotaged any of them, take care of the occasional scratch, dent, and bullet hole."

"I suppose that is a lot," Kurt said, leaning against the tool desk, and if the gesture was a little less than easy, it was hid the best he could.

Not good enough though, apparently, because Sam asked a second later, "Are you okay?"

Of course he wasn't okay. Nothing about this situation was okay or had ever been okay. He was in an almost constant state of unease. Whenever he gained a semblance of calm, he either had a phone call with his father that ended with a fight and Kurt feeling guilty or had an intimate interaction with Blaine and was left feeling dirty and confused and used.

"I'm fine," Kurt said.

"You sure?"

"I said, I'm fine."

Sam put his hands up defensively. "Alright."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to talk to a friend."

"You consider me a friend?" Sam said.

"Should I not?" Kurt said, hunching over a bit.

"A lot of people around here don't talk in terms of friends. There's your boss, your peers, your lackeys, the muscle, the help," Sam said, with a motion towards himself at the last term. "Rarely friends."

"Are we friends?" Kurt asked.

"I don't see why not," Sam said. "I could use a friend."

So they ended up chatting about cars and engines and other things, with Sam sitting on the bumper of a car across from Kurt. Kurt was really glad just to have something to get his mind off of Blaine and Dad and everything.

"…And so I told Mercedes –"

"Wait, wait, who's Mercedes?" Kurt asked.

"Only the love of my life," Sam said with the biggest smile and shining eyes.

"I most know more," Kurt said, leaning forward, and Sam's smile was infectious.

"Well," Sam said, with wild hand gestures, "She's beautiful and amazing and talented."

"Talented?" Kurt asked.

"A singer," Sam said. "One of the biggest, greatest, sweetest voices you could ever hear. She has some moves too, but, God, her voice." Sam sighed, and Kurt could tell he was a hundred percent infatuated. "She's working at Troubletones while working on her big break."

"Troubletones?" Kurt asked, shocked.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Sam said, intent to correct, "But it's a lot classier than people think, ever since Ms. Corcoran took over."

"I'll take your word for it," Kurt said. "It's not really my kind of place."

"I didn't think so," Sam said with a teasing grin.

"Shut up," Kurt shot back, but he wasn't upset.

Sam shifted on the bumper, then said, "You want to know something that, well, not exactly a secret, but not something you should bring up around the house at least."

"How dangerous is this information?" Kurt asked skeptically with his head cocked sideways.

"How dangerous do you consider Ms. Lopez?"

Kurt considered for a moment. "Fairly menacing."

"Then you know not bring it up."

"Okay, just tell me, unless it is about where bodies are buried."

"Okay," Sam said, shifting again, and looking rather mischievous. "Ms. Lopez's girlfriend works at Troubletones too."

"Oh," Kurt said, with widening eyes. "I didn't know…" he trailed off. It was obvious what he didn't know.

"You're not the first, and well, that is not even the part I was talking about."

"Oh?"

"Ms. Lopez used to work at Troubletones herself."

"No," Kurt gasped, then he rolled his eyes back to imagine the sassy, beautiful women strutting on a stage. "Okay, yeah, I could imagine it."

"But don't mention it to her," Sam cautioned yet again.

"Is she, like, ashamed of it? Her girlfriend still works there, after all," Kurt said.

"Not ashamed, just, most people bring it up to try and knock her down a peg, and well, she won't have any of that."

"I imagine not," Kurt said. "She's quite fierce."

Sam laughed. "That's a way to say it."

Kurt shifted, in his own thoughts, and then said, "Well, then, how did she end up working for Blaine?"

"That's a story I don't know," Sam said. "All I know, all most know, is she went from Troubletones to here in about a day's time. Mr. Anderson didn't even know her before, but something happened, and now he trusts her implicitly."

Kurt sighed and tilted his head up in an almost exhaustion. "This is a weird place," he said.

"I suppose so," Sam replied. Then his voice turned serious after all the joviality. "You know to keep this all between us, right? Keep it in the family."

"The family?" Kurt said.

"You know, the people who work in the Anderson Estate. Like Puck and Mrs. Hudson and me."

"And me," Kurt said, his voice suddenly dark, "The whore."

"We don't think about you like that, you know," Sam said, fast and assured.

"Well, I do," Kurt said, "And whose opinion matters more than that," he said drily and then let out a depressed chuckle.

"Well, I'm sorry that you think that, then," Sam said. "Because I think you're an okay guy. Hell, we're friends now, right?"

It was said with enough false cheery that Kurt couldn't help but let it ebb away some of his momentary grief.

Sam held out a fist too bump. Kurt rolled his eyes, but complied.

…

That night, Blaine stripped Kurt naked, held him down to the bed, and lavished attention across his abdomen. Blaine's lips and tongue and teeth and hands across Kurt's abs, belly button, nipples, collar bone, and that space under the dip of his hip bone that he didn't know could be so sensitive. After a long time, when Kurt was trembling from unwanted pleasure on the mattress, Blaine hauled Kurt's legs up on his shoulders and, after preparing him, had full penetrative sex for the first time since the first night.

Kurt didn't understand the variations in Blaine's actions. From sex to kissing to cuddling to getting Kurt off. He didn't understand it at all, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. But regardless of understanding, Blaine was moving in his, and Kurt was breathing hard, but refusing to release any other noises but that.

Blaine had his own running monologue of muttered fragments, of 'yes's and 'so hot's and other insignificant things. The pace changed, and then it stopped. Blaine let Kurt's legs down but collapsed onto him otherwise. He felt something wrong then, between their two bodies: Kurt's still semi-hard penis.

"You didn't get off," Blaine said, all breathless.

"Did you expect me to?" Kurt said, also quite, but with a barbed tone.

"Well, I can…" Blaine reached a hand between their bodies and circled Kurt's penis.

Kurt caught Blaine's wrist in his hand to still his motions. "Don't."

"Why?" Blaine said, and it sounded genuinely confused.

"Because I don't want you to," Kurt said. It was ridiculous because there was quite a list of things Kurt didn't want Blaine to do, but to get this, which was understood in part of their arrangement.

But Blaine let him go, drew back on the bed, and said, "Alright then," without a nasty note to it.

* * *

Aki- One big thing. This is a Klaine story. There is one reviewer not signed in who keeps saying they are waiting for Kurtbastian to happen. This isn't a Kurtbastian story. This is also not a Kum story, but people were wondering about that, and I know there are possible hints to that, but I just really ship Kurt and Sam as friends (because I think they could've been good friend in the show and they also have some moment, particularly with some background moments season 3).


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The library held many secrets. This, of course, Kurt knew. It was in the nature of libraries, with their pages and pages of knowledge; so many that you couldn't possibly know all of it. Going into a library was a process of discovery, and sometimes you could be surprised by what you found.

See, Kurt had become well-versed in the Anderson library since his move there. He understood the semblance of organization it had. Not exactly the Dewey Decimal system, but it had its own internal logic. The library held a good collection of literature, mostly what one would term the classics, as well as more modern, popular books. Kurt had to wonder who was buying them. Some were obvious well-read, with pages that were dog-eared and thumb-printed. Other looks like they were purchased, place on a shelf, and never touched again. There were several collections of encyclopedias, some large atlases and almanacs. A big collection of history books, a curious section that was music-themed, containing books on theory as well as some musical masters.

His favorite was the collection, however, was the shelves of antique books. He had been afraid to touch them at first, like they would be alarmed or would fall apart in his hands, but after a few days temptation, he gave in. He had carefully tugged one of the leather bound books out. When no one came storming in to scold him, he laid it out on the desk and carefully flipped threw the pages, only handling them by the corners.

That was the section he went to again, because he didn't really feel like reading. He had been reading his heart out to pass the time, and somehow that even became tiring. He pursued the beautiful, leather-bound bindings, daring to let his fingers glide across them, and it somehow made him feel more grounded, related to something of the past.

His fingers fell in a half inch as he got to the end of the row. Kurt cocked his head curiously, and he crouched down to look. There was a book stuffed back there. Kurt curled his finger around the edge and tugged it out.

It wasn't an antique book at all. It was a photo album. He turned it over curiously in his hands. There was nothing like this is the rest of the library collection, or at least as Kurt had seen. He flipped open the cover, and within the plastic sleeve page was a picture of a lovely Asian woman with a small, curly-headed boy on her lap. A boy with striking hazel eyes. Blaine, possibly? It was hard to imagine him as a cute, little kid, but most people, no matter how atrocious as adults, were cute little kids as some point.

He turned the page, and there was that probably Blaine kid again with a boy several years older with dark brown hair and blue eyes. One the opposite facing page was a formal sitting family photograph, that had the Asiin woman, curly-headed boy, the blue-eyed boy, and a man Kurt recognized as a young version of the now late, previous head of the Anderson family. Darius Anderson. Blaine's father.

Without really thinking about it, Kurt found himself moving to take a seat, the book still cradled in his hands. He found himself going through pages. The early pages had a lot of repetitions of the Asian woman…Blaine's mother?... and the slightly older boy. Kurt thinks he remembers something about an older Anderson brother, but it was from when Kurt was much younger, and he never really bothered himself with much of the mafia gossip. And that's what it was. Gossip. A power everyone knew ran the city, but no one liked to talk about much. A simultaneously acknowledged and unacknowledged presence.

Blaine got older in the photographs, and more recognizable. He got to a picture of Blaine as a teenager, looking very much like himself now, but softer around the edges. He surrounded by other boys his age, all wearing watching navy blazers with red chests and piping, and stripped ties – obviously a school uniform. It wasn't so unbelievable that he went to a fancy school, being as rich as he was, even if imagining the Blaine he knew in high school was kind of hilarious. Was he popular? A dork? Did he play sports? What clubs was he in?

The oddest part of the picture, though, was that he was smiling. Not leering or smirking, but full out smiling, widely. He was showing almost all his teeth, and his eyes were squinted up, and he barely even look like him.

"God, it's been a long time since I've seen that picture."

Kurt jolted in his seat at the sudden voice behind him. He glanced up at the unfamiliar man standing behind the couch where Kurt – a hand pressed to his chest where his heart was beating so fast – sat.

"You must be Kurt," the man said, taking a hand out his pocket and offering to Kurt to shake. Kurt reached up and did. "I'm Wes."

Kurt glanced down at the picture book in his lap and back up to Wes. "You're in the picture, too," Kurt said.

"Oh, yes, I've known Blaine… well, I've known him a very long time."

Kurt scrutinized this Wes for a moment, as he was busy looking down at the photograph or looking at something that wasn't there at all, Kurt wasn't sure. He was a fine-looking, tan-skinned Asian man, slim in features, and he didn't come across as particularly threatening. Assured, yes, but things about his stance, his handshake, the way he talked, the expression on his face, were rather calm.

"I haven't seen him smile in a long time," Wes said quietly, and Kurt was pretty sure it was not being said for his benefit.

He replied anyway. "I've never seen him smile."

"I supposed not," Wes said, but his tone had shifted, like he remembered he was talking to someone. There was a beat of nothing, and then, "I'm sorry that he's doing this to you."

"What?" Kurt said sharply.

"I'm afraid at some point recently, I gave him the idea that he needed an outlet for his stress and he took it a way I didn't intend, and here you are."

"You're the first person to apologize to me," Kurt said, an almost skeptical note to his voice. "Everyone else has treated it like a perfectly normal business arrangement."

"We live in a messed up time, Kurt Hummel," Wes said.

Kurt frowned at the use of his last name. It wasn't much, but it felt like it, more than him just getting casually mentioned in conversations. "How much do you know about me?" he asked.

"It's my job to know. It's my job to watch out for Blaine."

"That didn't answer my question," Kurt said, his voice tight and higher pitched than normal.

Wes blinked slowly, then said. "I've looked into you enough to know that you're not a threat."

"Why does that not sound that comforting?"

"Because you're still a liability," Wes said with a shrug. "And it's not your fault or anything. It just is."

"I didn't _ask_ to be here," Kurt said, suddenly angry.

"I know," Wes said, unaffected. "But that doesn't mean you're not now caught up in our business, and face the same risk as the rest of us."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because if looking out for Blaine includes looking out for you, you need to know what you're up against, now that you're one of us."

"Look, Wes," Kurt said, his voice with a bite. "I know that throwing my chips in with Blaine puts me in a line of fire. I got that when I have an escort to go to my apartment and to the hospital. But you should know, that living here, locked up in this house with a gate and armed guards, is safer than I ever was, living on my own out in that city filled with thugs that work for you. Even with a target on my back now, for being Blaine's kept boy, or whatever."

Wes laughed lightly. "You have spunk. That's good. You're going to need it if you're going to be around for a while."

Kurt wasn't sure if Wes meant around, as if around the Anderson estate, or around, as if alive. He didn't ask for clarification.

"I don't know where you found that," Wes said, nodding at the photo album, "But you should probably put it away. Blaine values his privacy."

…

Eating with Blaine was always a weird situation. Dinner and breakfast were served at particular times and Kurt and Blaine most often were at the table at the same time. Every now and then, Santana ate with them, but that was every now and then. So Kurt and Blaine ate, on opposite sides of the table, quiet except for the sounds of clanking cutlery.

But Kurt was in a mood today, even since talking to Wes, so, as he casually sliced his boiled potatoes, he said, "Do you think this arrangement, which puts me in close association with you, will end up with me getting shot?"

Blaine looked up from his plate and gave Kurt a scrutinizing look. "Why the sudden morbidity…Kurt?"

"I was just wondering," Kurt said, a bit blasé, and yeah, it was totally on purpose. He took a bite of his food and swallowed it, slowly. "Because I didn't exactly sign up for that."

"You're probably safer here than anywhere else in the city," Blaine said. "Including the police station. Let me tell you something, they're dirty."

Kurt huffed, but didn't say anything. It was exactly the sentiment he had expressed to Wes.

"But being associated with you is still a threat," Kurt said.

"Of course it is," Blaine said. "But most people don't know about you yet."

"They don't?" Kurt said, surprised.

"It's not like I've gone around broadcasting it. I like my privacy." Wes really did know Blaine. "But eventually, of course, people will hear of it. It's not like I can keep you a secret forever."

"Forever," Kurt said with a raised eyebrow. "That's a long time."

"Did you expect that I'd tired of you in a few months?" Blaine asked, and it sounded like he was trying to hide indignation behind sarcasm.

"I don't know what I expected," Kurt said, and it was still sassy, but more honest, not breaking eye contact with Blaine. "I didn't really stop to think it through…but I figured you'd get tired of me eventually. After all," Kurt said, "There's always someone younger, more… beautiful."

Blaine scoffed and muttered something to himself.

"What was that?" Kurt asked, because, hell, he was still in that mood, and Blaine hadn't gotten angry yet. In fact, he has never gotten angry at Kurt so far, and maybe he wasn't the biggest threat Kurt imagined.

"I said, I doubt it." Blaine stared at him, intensely, and it wasn't as creepy as he had at earlier times. It wasn't a leer, and it wasn't dangerous. It was a kind of genuine amazement, and Kurt felt himself growing flustered under it. Kurt let out a few hysterical laughs.

"What?" Blaine said, and he was almost whining, and if Kurt had been in a better mind he would've noticed.

"The first guy whose shows real, sustained interest in me has, one, manipulated me into a sort of relationship with him, and, two, is Blaine fucking Anderson." He ran his fingers through his hair. "How is this my life?"

Blaine's brow furrowed. "You're chatty today," he said, though he probably wanted to say a lot more.

"I've been quiet long enough. If you wanted a shadow, that's not me."

"That's not what I want," Blaine said, and it was totally reflexive. He hadn't meant to say it, and he wish he hadn't, because it left it open for Kurt to say,

"What _do_ you want, Blaine?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business," he said, and his calm, controlled, solemn exterior was back in place.

"Sorry," Kurt said, and the laughing was gone, but the hysteria wasn't. "I forgot my place." He stood from the table, and he left the room, and Blaine, for some reason he couldn't define deep in his gut and chest and brain, wanted to call him back.

* * *

Aki- So, I tried to write this earlier in the week so I could update twice this week, and, well, it didn't work out. So once a week updates are probably what you're looking at here. That has been my informal standard anyway, so that is what you should expect, and anything faster is special.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Kurt couldn't help but go back to the photo album. He had put it away when Wes had suggested, but the next day, after that conversation with Blaine that he couldn't even believe he instigated… Kurt went back.

He thumbed through the pages he had already seen, glancing over them, but not spending too much time on any of them. He didn't know if someone would walk in on him again. Only Wes had that once, but he was nervous. He felt like he was doing something forbidden.

Kurt got to the picture of Blaine in high school. He stared at it for a bit. It was still odd to see Blaine so happy looking. It was so not Blaine like. It made him seem too normal, too innocent. Kurt couldn't wrap his head around it.

He shook his head to clear it from thoughts, and turned the page, to the new stuff, the things he hadn't seen before. The next spread of pages were more pictures of Blaine and the other boys in uniform, one of which was candid, grabbing an image of an organized horde of private school boys on stage… performing? Again, another thing he couldn't really comprehend.

Kurt flipped to the next page. Again, Blaine, but this time out of uniform and with a pretty guy with ridiculous blonde hair. Kurt wondered if the two, who were sitting across from each other at a patio table knew a picture was being taken or not, for they were not paying attention to the camera. Rather, they were looking at each other, into each other. Blaine wasn't smiling, but his face carried a soft expression.

Before he knew what he was doing, Kurt was slipping his fingers under the plastic covering of the page and pulling out the photograph for closer examination. He held it close to his face and squinted, like he was trying to discern some secret. He turned it over and, by luck, someone had labeled the back of the photograph in tight cursive, like Kurt's mom used to do before she passed. Labeling photographs was becoming an old-fashioned practice, much like photo albums themselves, now that everything could be saved digitally. 'Blaine + Jeremiah' it read, followed by the year and a quickly scribbled heart. It made Kurt suck in his breath and hold it.

He put the picture back in place and flipped through the few remaining pictures to see if there were any more with the blonde boy… Jeremiah, as it were. There wasn't.

It just left Kurt wondering.

…

Blaine was trailing a series of bites, licks, and kisses up and down Kurt's neck. They were both clothed, and Blaine was rutting his hips against Kurt's under him. Kurt was hard from the stimulation. It was three in the afternoon and it all felt oddly clandestine, like they were teenagers who were rushing for some sexual release before their parents got home. But Kurt did what Blaine directed in bed, and if this clothed session was what he wanted, Kurt wasn't going to question. It was better than penetrative sex, at least. More distant, especially with little skin against skin.

Blaine sucked and nipped at a place that was the conjunction between Kurt's neck and shoulder. Kurt sucked in a sharp breath despite himself. It was a good spot. Blaine picked up on Kurt's reaction and started paying particular attention to that area. Kurt knew he would be dealing with a hickey when this was all over.

"You like my neck," Kurt chocked out, perhaps a defense mechanism to defuse all the positive sensations his body was experiencing with someone he didn't particularly care to have them with.

Blaine pulled back from Kurt's neck, licked a swipe against the part he had been paying so much attention to, and said, all husky, "You have a nice neck." He then placed his elbows on either side of Kurt's torso and paid attention to moving his hips against Kurt's. Both of their breathing grew into pants equally. No one could say that Blaine wasn't attentive to his sexual partner, even if the entire situation around it was messed up.

"I've never had my neck complimented before," Kurt managed to gasp out.

"Neck's can be sensual," Blaine grunted out, not stilling his steady movements.

Kurt wanted to laugh at Blaine's use of the word 'sensual.' To Kurt it sounded more intimate, personal, and loving than its synonymous counterpart, sexual. He didn't have the breath to laugh, though.

Blaine sped up his thrusting, and Kurt could feel he was close, so close. Blaine moved one, twice, and Kurt was done. Blaine was still moving, but only for a half minute more, and then he was, as always, was collapsing on Kurt.

After both of them had caught their breaths, Blaine moved so that he was only partially on the boy underneath him, an arm overtop his waist, a leg linked over one of his.

Kurt wriggled uncomfortably. "I can't believe I just came in my pants. This is gross."

Kurt thinks he sees Blaine raise an eyebrow at him in his peripheral vision, but Kurt doesn't care enough to spare the energy to turn and look.

"Put them in the hamper. Mrs. Hudson will take care of it."

"Do you ever feel embarrassed making Mrs. Hudson clean you're come-covered clothes?"

Blaine scoffed, and Kurt thought there might've been a little bit of a laugh in there.

"No," Blaine said. "Because I pay her, rather well in fact."

"It's not charming to flaunt your money, Blaine," Kurt said, a bit lazily. He wasn't sure where the reprimand came from, but he hated that it almost sounded like flirting. It wasn't his intent. It was just ever since that dinner that he spoke up, he wanted to make sure Blaine knew he wasn't afraid of him. Or that Kurt wasn't going to be silent in all of this. He had been, the first… two weeks had it been already, and he wouldn't be. He was still a person with a soul and voice and feelings and opinions and wants. He gave up a lot of his life when he made this arrangement with Blaine, but he didn't have to lose himself as well.

Blaine pushed up on his hands, and looked down at Kurt. "It got me you."

Kurt blinked, shaken. "Not exactly."

Blaine lowered himself and pressed a surprisingly soft kiss beneath Kurt's ear, and then whispered. "Semantics."

"Who's Jeremiah?" Kurt said, fast and desperate, because he didn't like Blaine winning. He already had all the control; Kurt needed something.

Blaine shot up off of Kurt and eyed him critically. "Who told you about Jeremiah?"

"No one," Kurt said, and maybe this was a really bad idea. "I saw a picture, in a book, in the library."

Blaine's face was hard, and it was actually intimidating. Kurt didn't feel so comfortable now, under him on the bed. "Who Jeremiah is, is none of your business nor your concern." Blaine pushed off the bed and headed towards the bathroom door.

"You can go now," Blaine said dismissively, over his shoulder. Kurt stared after him with wide eyes.

Kurt went back to his room and took a long shower filled with lots of thoughts. Once again dressed, he was curious, so he went to the library and looked for the photo album. It was gone.

…

"Hey, boss." Santana sat down across from Blaine, crossing her legs at the knee. "I've been fielding calls all week, ever since you're little meeting, about Smyth."

Blaine tugged the photo album down on his lap. He had the desk between himself and Santana, so she couldn't see what he had. He had left his office door open in thoughtlessness, after he had retrieved the album from the library. The unofficial rule of the house was if Blaine left his door open, people could come right in. If the door was closed, they had to knock and wait to be granted permission. Sometimes they wouldn't get it.

"And?" Blaine said.

"Definitely a rise in activity, but amongst the lowest of the thugs. Hustling, protection circuits, gambling rings…"

"If the lowest of the thugs are active, it means the higher ups are active, even if they aren't showing themselves."

"Exactly," Santana said, tapping her fingers idly on the tablet she had on her lap.

"And it means," Blaine said, a bit weary, "He's trying to exert control from the ground up. Get more of the city relying on him, and not on me."

Santana nodded curtly. As snarky and smart mouthed as she could be, she was serious when she needed to be. "And subtly, like he thinks we won't notice."

Blaine rubbed at his jaw. "Okay, okay. Tell the capos that they should send reinforcements to the places Smyth is trying to push his business."

Santana nodded, and started typing out a note on her tablet.

"But," Blaine said, "Don't have them threaten the proprietors of the businesses. That might push them towards Smyth at the moment. Have them sit in, and scare out Smyth's people."

"Okay," Santana. "One more question."

"Yes?" Blaine asked.

"What were you looking at when I came in?"

"That's not really—" Blaine started, but Santana was already stalking around the desk and peering down into his lap.

"Oh, Blaine," she said. He snapped the album shut.

"It's nothing."

"Look," Santana said, voice oddly tender. She sat on the edge of his desk. He glared at her. She continued. "I wasn't here when Jeremiah was around, but Wes told me –"

"Of course he did. You two gossip like school girls when you're not at each other's throats."

Santana gave a little 'well, yeah' eye roll.

"You and I can be the tough asses all we want. Be great at it too. But I know what I would be like without Brittany."

"That's all well and good, Santana, but it's really not you're business, and it's in the past."

There must've been something in her tone, for she just pursed her lips and then said, "All right, then," and dropped it.

It was awkward, then, for both of them. Neither often dug into emotions, at least not for others to see, and here Santana had tried, and maybe Blaine had snarled after a wound had been prodded.

"I, ah, I'll send your message," Santana said, and she started toward the doorway.

"Santana," Blaine called after her.

"Yes, boss?"

"No one has been bothering Brittany since you mentioned it… a while back?"

"No. No one's bothering her."

"Good."

Santana left, and she must've read him well, because she shut of the office door as she did. The photo album was still closed, between his hands, in his lap. It wasn't Jeremiah, exactly. That was so long ago, and Blaine had been very young. He's sure, looking back, that it hadn't been such a good match and it really wouldn't have lasted, one way or the other.

Blaine was a very different person now. But there was something about what he had shared with his first boyfriend, his first love, which he missed. He wouldn't it admit aloud. Not to Wes, who he is sure is getting an earful from Santana at this very moment. Not to anyone. Not most days. Probably not to himself either.

He was a busy man, after all, had a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. He didn't have time for distractions anymore. Then Wes said he needed one, if not with those words, a distraction. To keep him from cracking under it all. So he got Kurt, who was pretty enough to be appealing and desperate enough to be complacent. But he was a lot more than that, Blaine was learning, and it just wasn't the time for that.

Blaine yanked open the bottom left drawer of his desk, tossed the photo album in, and slammed it shut.

* * *

Aki- I really like writing this story. My last Klaine story was very mushy-romance-fluff with some angst. This was is heavier and is more well-rounded, I think, with more characters involved and such. Yup. So here is my chapter. Hope you liked. Review?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"What is with him?"

Sam rolled out from underneath a car. "Huh?"

"Blaine," Kurt said, storming into the garage. "What is with him?"

Sam let out a chuckle. "You expect me to any explanations for Blaine Anderson?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, almost in a pout and crossing his arms. "You've know him longer than me."

"I don't really think you could call my relationship with Mr. Anderson as knowing him. I just work on the cars. Ms. Lopez, she knows him. Not me."

Kurt sighed, and dropped his head back to look at the ceiling "Sorry, I'm just… I'm just frazzled."

"Look," Sam said, reaching out and putting a companionable hand on Kurt's shoulder. "I may not know the answers, but you can still talk to me about whatever."

"It's all in the family?" Kurt said with a half-smile.

"Yup," Sam said. "All in the family." Sam dropped his hand, and moved a few paces to lean up against the tool desk next to Kurt.

"He's just—," Kurt started, but then dropped his hands with a sigh. "Suddenly I don't have the words. Infuriating. Confusing… Complicated."

"Everyone's complicated, Kurt. People aren't simple."

"But it would be easier that way, right?" Kurt said, desperately. "Because that way he could just be my own personal villain instead of being a person. It was easy, that first night, as much as it was terrifying, because it all made sense. He was using me, and I was saving my father's life. And now…"

Kurt silenced, and Sam waited quietly and patiently for the Kurt to collect his thoughts. Kurt was grateful for this. There were many people who liked to cut in with advice before the problem was exactly spelled out.

"I thought it was all about sex," Kurt said, starting from a new angle. "That's what everyone thinks. What they would think. But sometimes, he just wants to cuddle. A crime lord who likes cuddling. Isn't that a joke? Or kissing. Then there's this picture of him and this guy, and Blaine's looking at him like he's totally infatuated. And then I could swear that sometimes—"

"Sometimes?" Sam prompted after Kurt went a long time being wordless.

Kurt shook his head from a thought that must have been clouding it. "He's still a villain. He's just a villain that starting to get back story, and I don't like it."

…

Santana had managed to leave something out of her report the day before. She had left him a message today to make up for it, but Blaine thought it would have been nice if she had told him yesterday rather than trying to have a heart-to-heart. While reports of Smyth's henchmen's activities were up throughout the city, there was one person who hadn't reported at all.

He used the phone on his desk, because no one would refuse a call coming from that number. Not if they valued their lives and well-being. After three rings, the call was picked up.

"Who's disturbing me?"

"You know who it is, Sue,"

"Ahh, it's the short Mr. Anderson. How can I help you? And by help you, I mean make this phone call end as soon as possible."

"Remember that meeting a while back where I asked everyone to report on the activity of Smyth's people," Blaine said in a tight, annoyed voice.

"Hmm," the woman replied over the phone, sounding mostly disinterested. "I vaguely remember that, but I think I was sleeping with my eyes open at that point."

"Sue," Blaine said warningly, and it was like dealing with a child sometimes.

"Listen, shortstop, I've taken care of Smyth's presence in Staten Island."

"Should I ask the body count?" Blaine said.

"Depends," replied Sue, and he could just imagine her propping her feet up on her desk in the way she did, leaning back in her chair, nothing about the discussion a stress on her shoulders. "Are you squeamish?"

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh. "I'd prefer," he said, the anger making itself heard on the sharpness of his syllables, "If we provided a united front on this issue."

"And I'd prefer," Sue responded casually, "To get things done right. You're not blood thirsty enough, little Anderson. I let no one encroach on my territory. No one." A unspoken 'not even you' was implied.

"Don't forget who you work for, Sue," Blaine said.

"And don't forget who wouldn't dare try to kick out of her place even when you gave the rest of your father's top cronies the boot. And all of them died tragically, shortly after."

"That wasn't me," Blaine said.

"I wouldn't tell people that. I'd fear you more if it had been you… You're not nearly ruthless enough."

"I know what I'm doing," Blaine growled.

"Alright then. Well, Smyth isn't going to take over Staten Island anytime soon. You can be assured of that. How's the rest of New York?"

Then there was a click and a dial tone. Blaine ended the call on his side fast and slammed down his phone, as if to convince himself that he had been the one that ended the conversation. That he had been the one in control.

What was with the blonde woman in his organization? Quinn and Sue were both, well, less than compliant. Blaine didn't want the rug pulled out from under him from his own people. That was one thing he couldn't weather, not in these times. Not with Sebastian Smyth waiting to pounce.

Kurt thought he might go stir crazy in this house. His first days there, he had been able to distract himself with the library, but not it felt tainted. It was no longer a sanctuary it had been. He could still take books out there, but after so many days spent reading, it was getting tiring. He didn't have much else to spend his time with though.

He ended up wandering the grounds. They were fairly large, all fenced in, and immaculate. The front lawn was wide with a stone walk that split it down the center. There were gardens and tall trees lining the walk.

Kurt ran his hand over one of the trunks. This tree been there longer than Kurt had been alive.

The back yard was even more spectacular, with a large patio with marble benches and tables, all under a canopy. There was a white, wooden gazebo out on the lawn, and further down a clump of big trees that weren't tamed into any shapes or to dictate any paths.

The sky began to get dark, and Kurt sighed, eyeing the sky. It was autumn, and the days gets slowly shorter and shorter. It was a pity no one ever used the lawn, even though there must be quite a budget spent on landscaping. Kurt couldn't use it tonight either. He had to go in when it was dark. Those were the rules.

He went inside and took a seat in the living room couch. It was a little while before dinner would be served, and he didn't what to do with his life. He was feeling particularly vulnerable at the moment, and maybe it was the monotony of his life here and how it would be that way for an unforeseeable time. Maybe it was the guilt for not communicating with his father lately. Maybe it was a lot of things.

One thing was for sure, he didn't need to deal with Blaine right now. He didn't.

Seeing Kurt calmed Blaine. He had spent most of the day in a rage over Sue and over Quinn and over Sebastian Smyth. He didn't want to overanalyze his feelings though, so he let himself belief it was a comfort to have something…someone… he had control over. Unlike everything else recently.

"You really are beautiful," Blaine said, and maybe he shouldn't have been caught staring.

Kurt neck curved as he looked over his shoulder, where he sat on the couch, to look at Blaine. "That's not really a comfort," he said, "Coming from you."

"That's a pity, because I get the impression that you're not used to hearing it. Didn't you say a while back that it was ridiculous that it was a _crime lord_ who was the first person to show interest in you?" Blaine walked up behind him, who was already facing forward again, and placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders. Kurt tensed, but Blaine's hands were light, just a weight, not a grip. Kurt released, somewhat.

"I did," Kurt said, "And I don't…hear that."

"And that's a pity," Blaine repeated, his voice whisper quiet. He leaned over and brushed a kiss to the back of Kurt's neck. Kurt stiffened again.

"You don't have to do that," Kurt said, and his voice was rich in emotion. Kind of sad and kind of desperate, and a little bit like he might be closed to tears. Blaine stood up, and pulled one hand off of the young man, while one remained.

Blaine opened his mouth to ask what the hell Kurt was talking about, but Kurt was speaking again before he could.

"You bought me, okay. I'll let you fuck me," Kurt spat out the curse word and Blaine found himself almost flinching, even though swearing meant nothing to him. "Whenever, however, you want. You don't have to compliment me or caress me or act like you have to seduce me… I know I have no grounds to make demands here, but would really be easier, on me."

Blaine dropped the remaining hand and stepped back. It stung, and it was a familiar sting. Rejection.

And it was worse, because Blaine controlled everything in this situation. Kurt couldn't leave, but he didn't have to accept. It made Blaine's own thought processes fuzz up and become unclear, so he turned and left before anything else could come of him.

* * *

Aki- I feel a bit _ehh_ about this chapter…maybe it is a bit fillerish? I don't know. I needed for them to grow some more before some bigger things start to happen. Also, I how my proofreading skills have improved, but I was a bit sleepy proofing this.


	9. Chapter 8 Addendum

**Chapter 8 Addendum **

Kurt was an idiot. He couldn't believe he went all emotional, sobbing mess in front of Blaine. In front of Sam, or Mrs. Husdon, or even Santana, it wouldn't have been as bad. But to Blaine? Kurt showed his cards.

"Shit," he swore into the emptiness of his bedroom. Blaine being affectionate with him was hardly the worst thing that could be happening. It was just Blaine ended up being…more… than Kurt had expected. But Kurt just said it, all the anxieties had just gushed out.

He was going to regret it. He already regretted it. He had half a mind to go find Blaine and apologize or something. Retract it. However, it was too late. It was out there. And maybe it would completely change the game.

He stripped out of his clothes and climbed into bed, hoping he could sleep off his anxieties, but doubting any success.

Blaine felt like he was on fire. He was frustrated. Everything was falling apart.

He stormed into his office, slammed the door behind him, and paced a few lengths. He pinched the bridge of nose, and then stilled in his movements. He marched over to his phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Hello?"

"Wes, what do we know about Sue's weaknesses?"

"Hi, Blaine," Wes said, maybe a touch amused. "And we've probably been back and over this for a long time now. She had a sister she was fond of, but the sister passed away of natural causes years ago."

"And has there been any developments on finding out about the murders of my father's previous capos?"

"No, but didn't we put that on the back burner? I mean, they had plenty of their own enemies, and were made vulnerable by their loss of position. And it was awfully convenient for us."

"Awfully convenient ," Blaine repeated, his voice dark.

"I'll put our top on it… So, um, Sue been trouble again?"

"When's she not trouble?"

"If it's any consolation, if she wanted to go traitor, she has had better opportunities than now. Also, I've heard down the grapevine that Smyth is very controlling. Sue would never flip ship to work with him. She loves her own free will too much to work for him," Wes said.

Blaine nodded once although no one was there to see it. "I still don't trust her, but I don't like the idea of poking her with a stick."

"She's happy with holding her domain as is. She likes running what she has and doing it well. Don't challenge that, and she's happy."

"The way you talk about her, it sounds like she is a contentious ally and not someone who works for me," Blaine said.

"Maybe," said Wes, "That's the way we should start thinking of her."

"What?" Blaine snapped.

"Hey, hey," Wes said in immediate defense, "Just think about it. She's fairly independent, but she has no goals to expand her comfortable and secure empire. And she's against Smyth."

Blaine sighed. "Okay, well, I'm not sure about all that, but you… put your best people on tracking Sue's actions. Secretly. I'm not afraid of taking her out if needed. I have a gut feeling that her people fear her more than they love her."

"My gut would agree with you, and it will be done." Wes' statement had a final note, but Blaine wasn't ready for the end of the conversation.

"And Wes?"

"Yes?"

Blaine licked his lips in a sort of nervous gesture, and then he said it, admitting it to himself as he admitted to the one person he counted as a best friend, "I like Kurt… and not just as a warm body. I like him. And he doesn't…care for me back."

"What did you expect?" Wes said, and it should have been a cruel, bitter thing to say, but instead, how he said it, was sympathetic and sad, voicing exactly the final thought of what Blaine would have said if he could have.

* * *

Aki- I wasn't pleased with Chapter 8 and where it ended, so I have this more to add. And it didn't feel like the next chapter, it felt like more of chapter 8, so, yeah. Also, I am going on a vacation next week, so my next update may be a little longer wait than usual.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Kurt and Blaine simultaneously avoided each other the next day. It was easy for Blaine. All he had to do was hide away in his office, door closed, and brood. Kurt didn't know that Blaine was hiding, so he had to be more careful about it, staying in his bedroom and sneaking to the kitchen after the meal times had passed. After a single day, both separately found the act ridiculous. As large as the house was, they would be seeing each other eventually.

Blaine was down for breakfast bright and early the next morning, a newspaper waiting for him at his place setting. About fifteen minutes later, Kurt entered, slowly and with his arms crossed around his stomach in a defensive gesture. Blaine's eyes flitted up over the fold of his paper to watch Kurt as he came in and sat down. When Kurt glanced up at him, Blaine dropped his eyes down, expression stony.

"I would, um," Kurt started in tired, empty kind of tone, "Prefer if you just ignored what I said the other day." Kurt had thought this over a great deal the day prior. He couldn't risk losing this arrangement with Blaine due to a momentary emotional outburst. His dad was worth more than that.

Blaine didn't respond for a long minute, but then with a turning of a page, said, "You're making a lot of demands lately."

Kurt stiffened in his seat. Blaine was quiet again. Kurt waited, nervous.

"I'd prefer," Blaine said, "That you realized that all those things you said the other night, I don't do for you." It was harsh and maybe a touch untrue, but it's not like Kurt could ever think of Blaine as Blaine was beginning to think of Kurt.

"Okay," said Kurt in a quiet voice across the table.

"Good," Blaine said.

And that was settled.

"See you at dinner," Blaine said, as he slapped down the paper and exited the room.

…

"Just so you know, Mike and Tina are coming over later. They want to talk with you," Santana said as she sat idly across the desk from Blaine.

"And you're just telling me this?"

Santana shrugged. "You're not busy, and you've been all sulky lately, and they said it was important. So, they're going to be here for dinner. Also, I'm not going to be here because I have a date with Britt tonight, and it's going to be ho-ot."

"More than I needed to know."

"Okay, how much about your sex life do I know? You just don't like to hear about lady parts."

"Aren't you leaving?"

"Yes, actually," Santana said, standing. When she got to the door of the office, she stopped. "And try to listen to Mike and Tina. You know that they got your back."

That evening, the couple arrived in a timely manner. They shared necessary pleasantries as they took seats in the dining room. They briefly discussed how they were handling Smythe's movements in their territory, but they all knew that was not what they were here for.

"Tina and I have been talking about this Smythe situation, and we were thinking, it's time for a party." A party thrown by the mob, of course, was never just a party. Rather, it was a deliberant event with a message, even if vain as a flaunting of wealth and extravagance. However, he knew it was not the message Tina and Mike were thinking about.

"You control this city, Blaine. And what better way to reinforce it than to have an event where you invite all those people who know you're a mob boss, but can't do anything about it. Or don't want to. The D.A., the police chief, hell, Mayor Figgins owes you the election. Not only should the fear and respect you, they owe you. You either helped them get the power they have, or you let them keep it because they're not being a problem."

"It's a good idea," Blaine said. "I should've thought of it myself, but I was never quit as social as… other members of my family."

"We know," said Tina. "That's why we brought it up."

"Hmm, we'll have to play it right, though, give off the exact right message."

"Or we can just kill Smythe," Mike joked. "That's still an option, right?"

And that's when Kurt walked in. The conversation dropped and they all stared at him.

"Oh, um, I didn't know there was going to be company," Kurt said. "Sorry, Blaine, I'll just…" he took a step back.

"Who's this, Blaine?" Tina said, before Kurt could escape. She put a special emphasis on his name in a way that revealed that it had been a clue. That Kurt had to be more than an new hired hand around the house if he was using Blaine's first name like only Blaine's inner circle and family did – or had, in the case of family. Or perhaps it was a bit of a teasing challenge – for Tina and Mike wouldn't outright challenge him like Quinn or Sue – for if he ended up being just an employee of any sort, Blaine would have to squash him for his insubordination.

Kurt looked right at Blaine, a bit wide-eyed and tight-lipped, waiting for what he would say.

"This is Kurt Hummel," Blaine said, running a hand over his chin. "My boyfriend." Kurt's eyebrows shot up; Blaine plowed on. "Kurt, this is Tina and Mike, they sort of run Manhattan for me."

"Hi," Kurt said lamely. Tina and Mike responded in like, much to their credit, because Mike look equal parts surprised and intrigued while Tina gave off a vaguely ecstatic vibe. Although, considering that these two were the only of his capos in stable relationship – not counting Wes and Santana who were in on the true nature of Blaine's relationship with Kurt – of course they had an interest in it.

"Kurt should join us," Tina directed to Blaine. Then to Kurt, "We're not discussing anything too… dicey." She said the last with a particular kind of smile that reminded everyone in the room that while she might be a romantic, she was also vicious.

Tina and Mike shared a significant look couples speak silently with. "Especially after he came all the way here," Mike said.

"He lives here," Blaine said blandly, realizing belatedly that he was giving them more information to feed whatever craziness was going on with them.

"I don't want to interrupt," Kurt said, and it was sharper and more determined than anything he had said earlier. He was giving Blaine a pleading look. He didn't want to hear what they were talking about. He didn't want to be involved in any mob business. But Mike and Tina might find it weird that he sent Kurt away when they weren't discussing anything too secretive or violent. And when did he care what Mike and Tina thought of his relationship with Kurt?

"We're only discussing a party," Blaine said. "And you must be hungry."

Kurt clenched his jaw momentarily, and then crossed the room to take a seat that was crossed from Tina and at the right-hand side of Blaine. Kurt usually sat at the tail end of the table, completely opposite and the most possible distance from Blaine's head of the table seat.

Kurt paid a lot of attention to dishing food onto his plate from the spread in the middle, until he felt the brush of fingers on his sleeve. It was Blaine's hand, and it trailed up to his shoulder and then grabbed Kurt by the collar. Blaine gently tugged Kurt closer to brush his lips against Kurt's.

As they fell apart, Kurt could see Mike and Tina eyeing them curiously. That peck on the lips had been purely for those two's benefit. Kurt wondered why Blaine cared so much to keep up the boyfriend pretense. It's not like he had a moral reputation to uphold. It's not like he had to tell them they were involved in the first place, but what Blaine wanted…

It turned out their party planning discussion involved a lot less color schemes and food choices – things that would be on the top of Kurt's party planning check list – but more who they were inviting and how exactly they were manipulating them.

After Kurt finished eating, he sat still, listened, all the while raking his brains for a way to try and excuse himself. Before he could muster up the words for a 'I'm tired, I'm going to call it a night' Blaine had reached over yet again and caught Kurt's hand in his own and held it on top of the table.

Later than night, after Mike and Tina left, Blaine requested Kurt change into his sleepwear and join him in Blaine's bedroom. Nothing happened but for Blaine turning off the lights and spooning up behind Kurt in bed. As always, Blaine fell asleep first.

Kurt felt like he had seen more of Blaine today, in the shared presence of his… friends? Where they friends? They seemed friendly. Blaine, holding up the façade of an actually relationship. Holding hands was a new one for them. Blaine, the crime lord who liked to cuddle and who introduced Kurt as his boyfriend and made sure it held up under minor scrutiny.

Part of Kurt welled up in his chest and wondered if he should pity Blaine, a man who so obviously wanted some affection, but had to resort to coercion to get a facsimile of it. He pushed it down soon after he thought it. It was a dangerous road to go on.

But once a thought is thought, a feeling felt, it is hard to negate, even if rejected on the surface.

* * *

Aki- I'm back! And excited, because I wrote an outline for the rest of this story, and things are moving and changing, and shit it going to go down.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Here," Blaine said the next morning, taking something from his dresser and tossing it on the bed by Kurt. A credit card. "Go buy something to wear to the party. It's Saturday."

"That's soon."

"Well, when you're me, people get things done."

"Hmm," Kurt said, picking up the credit card carefully in his fingers. "I own clothes."

"I know, but my boyfriend can't show up to a party wearing nothing less than the best and latest," Blaine said idly as he was buttoning his cuffs.

"Is it safe for me to just show up in a store with a credit card with your name on it?"

"Take Santana with you. They know her."

"Santana. That sounds fun," Kurt said and the sarcasm was plain.

Blaine chuckled. "I'll tell her you're ecstatic. She should be here for breakfast, then you two can head out."

"Great," said Kurt, dropping the credit card onto the blankets and climbing off the bed. "I'm getting a shower then."

Twenty five minutes later, Kurt came downstairs in an outfit he wouldn't be embarrassed to go high end clothes shopping in and walked in on must've been the tail end of Blaine telling Santana his brilliant shopping plan.

"Fine," she said, snatching the card Blaine was holding out to her. "But I'm buying something for myself too."

"I didn't expect anything else."

"You," Santana said, turning on Kurt. "Eat breakfast then we're leaving."

"Ease up on him, Santana," Blaine said. "I want you both coming back alive."

Sometime later, Kurt first stepped into a clothes store that he only dreamed about growing up. Designer, expensive… Kurt had always loved clothes and fashion, but he made due with creativity, awesome bargain shopping, and his own sewing and tailoring skills. He reached out to the first rack and touched one of the shirts. It was silk.

"Are you just going to stand there gawking?" Santana said.

"This is an Alexander McQueen."

"God, you're a label whore, aren't you?" Santana said.

"Like you're not wearing Vivienne Westwood right now," Kurt retorted, motioning at her outfit.

Santana raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing to him. Rather, she yelled down the store. "Hey, can we get some help here! We got money."

"Santana," Kurt hissed, because he was pretty she that was not the decorum for a shop like this.

A middle-aged shop assistant came rushing down the main aisle, seeming very put out. "Excuse me, ma'am," she started, voice angry.

Santana flashed Blaine's platinum credit card and the woman's demeanor instantly changed. "How can I help you today? Would you like anything before you start? Water? Coffee?"

"Yes, you can help me." Kurt got the distinct impression that Santana liked to the hold the power she got from her connection to Blaine over people. Then he remembered she used to be a stripper in what used to be a nightclub known for its skeeze. He imagined going from that to being the personal assistant to the most feared man in Long Island was something of a switch. "First of all, we need to get Mr. Anderson's boy suited up for a special evening, and then you need to direct me to your newest line of evening gowns."

Kurt wasn't sure how it happened, but before he knew it, he had been ushered off to a changing area, two different shop assistants large selection of suits in his size to Kurt's dressing room, and Santana was sitting on a plush armchair, being the un-appointed judge of the clothing.

After a few unsuccessful outfit tries, he came out of the changing room in a slimly cut silver blue suit. During the time he was in the changing room, Santana had gotten a rack of dresses brought to her and was holding up one against herself in front of the mirror.

"What do you think?" she asked Kurt.

"Red's your color," Kurt said, taking a place next to her by the three way mirror and inspecting his own outfit. "I think this is the one."

Santana eyed him, and then said, "It's not something I would have picked out, but it's nice. Hot, even."

"Thanks…"

"So what else are we getting?" Santana said.

"What?"

"Oh, come on, you're not telling me that you have Blaine's credit card and are not going to go on a shopping spree?"

"Um, technically you have the credit card, and no," Kurt said.

Santana scoffed. "What's the point of being a gold-digger if you don't exploit it."

"I'm not a – never mind."

"Not a gold-digger, well, I guess not exactly, but that's how everyone's going to see you after the party where you are informally introduced to the city as Blaine's arm candy."

"But it's so much more complicated than that," Kurt groaned to himself.

"Not really," Santana said. "People get into relationships because they want something. I'm even saying this, and I have the girl of my dreams back home. It's about money, or respect, or sex, or appearances, or love, or not wanting to be alone. And then we ascribe different levels of nobilities to the reasons."

"You have quite a philosophy on this," Kurt said, looking at her reflection in the mirror rather than at her.

"I just want you to know that when I call you a gold-digger or a boy toy or shit like that, I'm doing it judgmentally, like others might. I know what it's like to do what you have to do."

"Thanks," Kurt said quietly.

Santana huffed. "I'm being way too nice. Let's burn some cash, that'll make me feel better."

"… do you know where the scarves are?"

"That's my boy."

…

"So," Santana said, walking in the open door of Blaine's office, "We've got tons of replies to the invites. The mayor is coming. A couple of police detectives. Lots of socialites. And, of course, the Brankley Ballroom has been booked. They had to boot a wedding for it, but hey, it's you."

"And I wasn't about to have all these people in my house," Blaine said. "Considering I don't trust most of them."

"It makes security harder, though. Wes was flipping out."

"Zizes and Bieste are already working on it, and they're the best of the best."

"I'm sure it will be fine, but you know Wes…"

Blaine nodded in concession.

"I'm actually really excited," she said, doing something on her tablet computer as she talked. "I mean, I'm always up for a party. I have a hot date, a hot dress – don't look too closely at your credit card bill –, oh, and by the way, Kurt is going to look _fine."_

Blaine paused in looking at the papers on his desk, but didn't look up. "Well, as long as he's presentable."

"Presentable? When did you become all formal? You're the one that's fucking him."

He didn't respond to her and busied himself with the paperwork.

"Oh," he heard Santana say in a particularly loud and perhaps cunning way, if a single syllable can sound cunning.

"What?" he asked.

"What," Santana repeated, mocking the word. She was smirking, but that wasn't unusual for her. "I get it."

"Get what?"

"And I can see it too," she continued on. "We connected a bit on our shopping trip. He has spunk, although," she paused, laying it on thick, "You would know that from personal experience."

"Really?" Blaine said, giving her a speculative look. "Are we in high school?"

"We wouldn't have been friends in high school," Santana said.

"I imagine not," he said.

"I would have been too cool for you."

"Think what you want," Blaine said, teasing.

"Alright, I have to finish planning your party. I just came in here to tell you it was going straight up damn near perfect so far. And to see if you need anything, mind you, I'm busy planning your party in less than a week."

"I don't anything."

"Good. Ta Ta."

…

Blaine tossed down his papers onto his desk and dug the heels of his hands into his tired eyes. He had a burgeoning headache. He needed a break, and a glass of water.

He was a few paces out of his office when he heard it, the tinkling of noise that he hadn't heard in quite some time. So, instead of going down the staircase, he turned the corner and followed the sound. All in all, he wasn't surprised, when he reached the room he knew he was heading to, to see Kurt. Of course it would be Kurt, sitting there at the piano bench in a long unopened room.

"I see you've found the music room," Blaine said.

Kurt jerked around where he sat, shocked by Blaine's voice. "Oh, yeah... Am I not supposed to be in here?"

"No, it's fine," Blaine said, stepping into the room. "We just don't use this place much." He brushed his hand through the thin layer of dust gathered on the top of a guitar case. "Do you play?"

"What?"

"The piano," Blaine said.

"Oh," Kurt said, looking back at the keyboard. "I used to, when I was little."

"What happened?" Blaine said, moving even closer further into the room, closer to the grand piano that sat in it's almost center.

"My mother died," Kurt said with a shrug that seemed very forced. "She was the one who taught me. Then years later, money got tight and we sold the piano. It was nothing like this though," Kurt ran a hand over the black lacquered wood appreciatively. "We had a beat up, out of tune upright piano. It had been my mother's though, when she was a kid. It hurt the day we sold it. I was sixteen, and I cried that night in my room," he trailed off weakly. "I've never told anyone that before."

"I'll keep it a secret then," Blaine said. He was standing next to Kurt now.

Kurt looked up at him from his seat on the bench. "The question is, do you play? And if not, why do you have it? Just to keep up appearances in a room that no one comes in." It was all snarky, an obvious change from what was verging on too sensitive a topic.

"I used to play as well," Blaine said coolly.

"Do you have a tragic story as to why you stopped?" Kurt said.

"No," Blaine said. "I just outgrew it. My life became consumed with more pressing things."

"Like running a criminal hierarchy," Kurt provided, for the first time perhaps adding a bit of humor into it.

"Yeah, like that."

Kurt laughed, and tapped middle C a few times. "I'd never imagine you with hobbies."

"I'm a complex human being like everyone else," Blaine said.

"I suppose so," Kurt said, and he looked up at Blaine threw his eyelashes, and Blaine just couldn't stand it.

"Come here," Blaine said, and with a knuckle under Kurt's chin, titled the boy's head up and kissed him. It was light and soft, just dry lips against dry lips. Blaine pulled back, just minimally, their noses still touching, and waited there.

His eyes were shut and he imagined Kurt's were closed too. Kurt wasn't pulling away from him, but that didn't mean anything in particular. He didn't pull away a lot, but that his job. But he thought, perhaps, unbidden, completely made up, that when Blaine had pulled away, Kurt chased after him, just a millimeter or two. Or it could have just been wishful thinking.

* * *

Aki- Okay, here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed. I liked it. Some Santana time is always interesting. Again, would people prefer longer chapters (although they may take longer to write) or this? I like this, but I feel it might be really jumpy to read sometimes. Anyway, yeah. Drop me in a line in a review, please.

Also, you can find me on tumblr as ungoodpirate. My blog is roughly equal parts fandom and social issues with a pinch of other things sprinkled in.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Kurt was giving himself a last once-over in the mirror. His suit fit impeccably. He had just gotten it back from the tailor this morning. This hair was styled, and, honestly, he had nothing left to do and no need to stand fretfully in front of the mirror. Well, he had a reason. He was going to be in the public eye in a way that he had never been before. Singing at New Directions Tavern for a few weeks was really nothing in comparison. There was probably going to be some judgment and some admiration thrown his way tonight, and through all of it, he might as well look good.

"Do you have soft skin? You look like you have soft skin," said an unfamiliar woman standing in Kurt's doorway, giving him a little start. She was tall, blonde, and quite pretty, wearing a sky blue, mermaid-cut dress with ruffles around the bottom.

"Who are you?" Kurt asked.

"Brittany," she said, like it was the only explanation that was needed. The name sounded like something she had heard before.

"Santana's girlfriend?" Kurt said.

She nodded. "Is your skin soft?"

"I suppose," Kurt said. "I moisturize… Is Santana here, then, too?"

"Yeah, we're all going to the party together in a limo. San, you, me, and Blaine."

Kurt tilted his head, curious at her use of his first name. "You know Blaine well?"

She stared at Kurt, perhaps a little blankly, and replied. "Santana does, not me. But I like him. He's nice."

"Nice?" Kurt said, voice pitched with skepticism. Blaine had… moments, but Kurt didn't think most people, if any people, would throw out _nice _as the first descriptor of Blaine Anderson.

"Yes, nice," she said, curling her arms around her torso. "A lot of people make fun of me. Laugh at me. Call me stupid, but Blaine never does that. Not once."

It wasn't the same, but Kurt could understand being taunted. He had been teased and hurt for being effeminate all his life, even, sometimes, by other gay people, and well, Blaine hadn't done anything like that to him. It wasn't the same, but he got it. "That is nice," Kurt said.

"Come on," Brittany said, holding out a hand for Kurt to take. "Let's go wait for San and Blaine together."

Kurt took her hand, and she interlaced their fingers and tugged him along.

They ended up sitting in the living room, chatting casually as they waited. Kurt liked Brittany. She was mostly good-hearted, and she didn't always make sense in her segues, but she sure was fascinating to talk to.

"See you've met," called Santana from the top of the staircase. She was stunning in the red dress she had picked out earlier that week, although the slit up her thigh went higher than Kurt remembered. She pulled it off well, with a certain type of sultry confidence, strutting down the staircase.

"I like Kurt," Brittany said. "Can we keep him?" She reached out a hand to pet Kurt's hair, but he caught her wrist and gently averted her hand before she could do any damage.

"Sorry, Britt-Britt," Santana said, coming to stand behind the couch where they sat. "Blaine's the one that gets to keep him, but perhaps we can set up visiting rights."

"Oh my god," Kurt said, disgusted and directed at Santana. He understood her sense of humor and general sass more after their little shopping trip, so he wasn't _as_ offended as used to be by her. Brittany looked mildly confused.

During all this, Blaine had made his way downstairs as well. He was in a traditional black tuxedo, and looked, well, debonair. He always wore traditional clothes, as Kurt had seen him: dress trousers, button-downs in neutral shades, overcoat, and sports jackets. He wore them well, true, but it seemed to Kurt that the clothes were a little too perfect. They were simple, that was it. Classic simple. Expensive simple, but simple. They lacked any sort of spirit or personality or imperfection. Not like Brittany's ruffles or Santana's slit.

"We should be leaving," Blaine said. Kurt stood carefully from where he had sat carefully. Brittany had got up from where she had lounged perilously, considering the fabric of her dress.

"Do you like my dress, Blaine?" Brittany said, twirling around.

"It's lovely, Brittany, just like you," Blaine replied, and there was a lilt to his voice that was sincerity.

"And Santana?"

"Santana as well," Blaine said. Santana smirked.

"And Kurt?" Brittany said.

Blaine's eyes flitted over to Kurt the first time. "Yeah, Kurt looks… nice."

Santana rolled her eyes exaggeratedly behind Blaine's back. "Alright. Let's go." she said, putting a hand to Blaine's back and giving a small shove, then wrapping an arm around Brittany. The group went outside. Sam and Puck were waiting for them at the limo, Sam shooting a subvert thumbs up to Kurt as they approached. Sam drove, and Puck was a silent guardian sitting with them in the back. He looked a bit odd and uncomfortable so dressed up, but perhaps that was just Kurt projecting.

Santana and Brittany were chatty during the ride, and there was certain interplay between them that Kurt rather liked seeing. Santana was a lot _softer_ with Brittany than he had ever seen her before. She was smiling, not smirking or leering as she usually did. To put it simply, they were in love.

The realization made Kurt's chest contract with an ache and a yearning. He wanted that. He had never been in love, and he didn't know when he would get a chance to.

He glanced over at Blaine, who had been quiet the whole ride. The moment he looked over at Blaine, Blaine looked away; it made Kurt fairly sure that Blaine had been watching him for at least a little bit.

When they arrived, Puck was the first out of the limo, and Kurt supposed there was some sort of tactical reason for that, but he didn't care much to fathom what. The rest of them filed out afterwards. Santana linked arms with Brittany and gave Blaine, who was standing next to Kurt stiffly, a pointed look. Blaine sighed, and offered an arm to Kurt. Kurt took it, as was the act, but his brow furrowed all the same. Blaine had no room to be sighing when he was the one that instigated all of this. Kurt's presence really couldn't be that much of a labor to him.

They were up the steps and into the hall. It seemed like everyone else was being stopped by security, all dark suits, wired ears, and clichés apparently, but they got to fly right through. The hall was breathtaking, beyond something Kurt could have dreamed – gleaming ivory floor, marble pillars, arched ceiling with a chandelier. He probably should have appreciated Blaine's house in the same vein, lavish and expensive, but Blaine's house was a prison. This was something else.

The room steadily filled up and Blaine was greeted by a great number of people – and Kurt was introduced to a great number of people – politicians, public officials, a few local stars and starlets from Broadway and television, city socialites, and more. More than a few had weirdly ambiguous or slightly threatening short conversations with Blaine, and Kurt could only half guess what they were about. Puck, the whole time, hovered menacingly behind them. Santana and Brittany had disappeared into the crowd. Staff came by regularly, specifically to them, offering finger foods – which were delicious, by the way – and flutes of champaign. At some point, Blaine had slid an arm around Kurt's waist and pulled him close.

Honestly, after a parade of strangers, Kurt was overwhelmed and highly grateful for a familiar face, even if those familiar faces he had only seen once.

"You both look very handsome," Tina said, slithering through the nearby crowd, Mike being tugged along after her, their hands linked.

"You two look very nice yourselves," Blaine replied, and despite the formality of the words, they seemed a lot more genuine than all the other small talk he had engaged in so far, barring everything that had happened with Santana and Brittany.

"I love your dress, Tina," Kurt said, and he did. It was black and the top was corseted.

"Thanks, Kurt," she said with a beaming smile.

"Hey, I think you're pretty too," Mike said, teasing, standing behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist.

Tina rolled her eyes but grinned up at him nonetheless. It was another moment of pure affection, of love, that made Kurt hurt to witness. He wondered how it looked to outsiders, Tina and Mike standing across from Blaine and Kurt. With Tina and Mike so cute and cuddled up together and with Blaine standing there stoically, and Kurt being awkwardly polite. They didn't look like some happy couple, but Kurt guessed that was him just being the pretty arm candy, like Santana would say.

"Now that we're a party," Tina was saying, bringing Kurt out of his thoughts. "I've been dying to know, how did you two meet?"

Kurt side-eyed Blaine to see how he would answer.

"Kurt was a singer at a bar I frequented," Blaine said, and so far it was the truth, "And he was just so amazing on the stage, I knew I had to meet him…. So of course, I had Santana run a background check on him."

"Of course," Mike repeated around a laugh.

"One night I had his boss bring him to my table after his performance,… and the rest is history." And was that an understatement.

Tina was wearing a face splitting grin, and Kurt gave what he hoped was more convincing than his other smiles this evening. But how he could he fake it, love and adoration and everything Mike and Tina, as well as Santana and Brittany, seemed to exude so naturally.

"I love stories like that," Tina said.

"Tina and I _hated _each other," Mike said.

"We were rivals," Tina said. "And we heard of each other for a long time, but the first time we met, we were both trying to fulfill a hit on the same guy. Ahh, serendipity, y'know?"

Sometime later, when Mike and Tina moved along to dance – even though no one was dancing yet – and Blaine was not being addressed by anyone, Kurt turned his face into Blaine's ear, making it look like a whispered discussion between lovers in a crowd. "That story about us meeting… you're good at bullshitting, aren't you?"

Blaine mimicked the action of Kurt's, his breath hot against the side of Kurt's face. "That wasn't bullshit."

…

Blaine caught a flash of short blonde hair and a familiar face moving through the crowd – someone he had been meaning to corner.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said, distracted, handing his mostly-empty champaign glass over to Kurt. "Puck, stay here." The people parted, at least somewhat, before him, and so it was a benefit of his position. He got to the French doors along one wall, wide open and letting the cool night air in.

Quinn was smoking a cigarette on the balcony in a way that was refined, elegant, how she curled her fingers around it, how she let her wrist rest holding it, how she blew the smoke out of her mouth.

"Hello, Blaine," she said as he took a place standing beside her at the rail.

"I've been meaning to talk to you in private for a while, but you rarely make yourself available for the occasion."

"You're wondering about my loyalty," Quinn said plainly.

Blaine nodded his head, eyes never leaving her face, even as she looked over the lawn.

"I'm not a silent, unquestioning peon, Blaine. And I hardly doubt that's what you wanted in a capo anyway."

"True. The worst mistake one can make as a leader is refusing to hear the voices of one's followers, but you tend to cause more upheaval than the others. Even Sue She's just being rude. You're provocative." The part about Sue wasn't exactly true, but sometimes conversations weren't about truth.

Quinn took a drag on her cigarette, and exhaled the smoke. "I'm testing you," Quinn said. "Pushing you. You're good, Blaine," she said, for the first time looking him straight in the eye since their conversation started. "But you could be great." She looked back over the balcony. "Your success is implicit in mine. Why would I settle for mediocrity?"

"So it's all for my own good?" Blaine said, derisively

"No. Weren't you listening? It's for mine."

"So as long as it's in your interest… which isn't exactly reassuring."

"I'm loyal to you, Blaine, at the moment. I like how you run ship. But I'm not like Wes, David, or Santana, who would go with you until the end. I'm not like the Changs or Artie who voice mild dissent, but when the lines are drawn in the sand, would always be on your side. I'm not even Sue, who, at this point, has so much invested in the Anderson name that it's really her only path to keep following." She stubbed out her cigarette on the marble railing.

"I'm me, and I put me first. And if you fuck up, I'm not going down with you. My people are loyal to me first, as am I."

"Is that a threat?" Blaine said darkly, because he didn't take to threats kindly. Usually the ended with bloodshed as his retaliation.

"No," Quinn said, turning to face him fully, and it was exposed position, open to attack, and somehow a genuine gesture, a proposition of honesty. "It's not even really a warning. It's just how it is. But the thing is, as long as you keep doing your job right, you won't have to worry about me. I can't be bought, coerced, or tricked into betraying you. They only thing that can make me turn my back on you, is you."

With that, she began a strut back towards the door, her heels clacking loudly and purposefully.

"You're broken," Blaine called after her, causing her to pause, but not turn. "I can recognize the signs. Someone… Something broke you at some point didn't it?"

Quinn stayed still just long enough before she continued her way inside just a little too hastily to give the answer he needed.

So that was Quinn, then. He leaned back against the railing, taking a deep breath. His tranquility out here couldn't last long though.

Lauren Zizes, one of his heads of security, peaked around the corner of the French doors. "Sir, an interesting gatecrasher just showed up."

"Who?" Blaine asked, running a hand over his face, wearied, for he knew that Zizes had no qualms with throwing unintended guests and troublemakers out. She wouldn't be coming to him if it weren't a problem.

"Sebastian Smythe."

* * *

Aki- cliffhanger?

I am excited about his chapter. I wrote that scene with Quinn ages ago.

Also, since I updated last I watched all of Teen Wolf for the first time, and omg, is that show good.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Kurt was just standing there, awkwardly, with Puck. He finished of his champaign and Blaine's as well, because, why the hell not. He passed the empty glasses off to a waiter who was collecting them.

It was then that a tall, young man in an off-white linen suit approached him.

"Quite a party," he said to Kurt.

"Yes, it is," Kurt said politely, and then, "I'm sorry, did we meet earlier? It's just there have been so many people…"

"Oh, no, if we had met, I would've made sure you remembered," the man said. Kurt let out an uneasy laugh.

"Look," the man said, "There's dancing." He nodded over to the center of the room where Tina and Mike's lead had inspired other to join in. Now Brittany and Santana, among many other couples, were swaying together. "Would you like to…" his eyes slid over to the dancers, and Kurt picked up on the proposition.

"I don't think –" Kurt said, but the man cut across him, all with a shrewd smile.

"Come on, just one little dance?" he said, reaching out to touch Kurt's arm, but Kurt shied away from him.

"I don't think I should," Kurt said, a little firmer.

"Come on," the man repeated, his voice lower this time, taking a step in closer, just breaking that bubble of personal space. Kurt glanced over his shoulder. Puck was a few paces back, distracted at something across the room. "Anderson surely doesn't keep you on that short of a leash, huh, Kurt?"

A tremor of something cold, slippery, and fearful shot through Kurt's body. He let out a shaky breath. "Excuse me," he said, for lack of anything else.

The man chuckled, deep and confident and it didn't do anything for Kurt's nerves.

"Smythe." A series of heads turned: Kurt's, Puck's, and the man. Kurt could honestly say that he had never felt so relieved for Blaine to arrive, this time with a security woman and Wes flanking him.

"Anderson," Smythe said, not at all intimidated a wide smile on his face. "We finally met."

"I could have stood to wait longer," Blaine said darkly.

"I know, I know, it's such a faux pas to gatecrash, but I just got back in town, and I wasn't invited to the biggest party of the season. How I could I resist. You do, after all, have great," his eyes briefly circled the room before landing on Kurt, "taste."

Blaine curled a solid arm around Kurt and tugged him tight to his side, and for once that gesture wasn't awkward or unwanted, but something of a comfort to Kurt. Even though his lungs were still tight with tension, he felt he could breathe just a bit easier.

"I could have you thrown out of here right now. You might've slipped through the cracks, but none of your goons with guns did."

"Of course not. They're waiting outside," Smythe said, and it sounded like a threat. "But I didn't come here to start a fire fight. That would be so crass. I just came… to talk."

"As we've all witnessed," Blaine said sarcastically, the party still going on mostly undisturbed around them.

"Out of all these guests here tonight, eating out of your hand, at your beck and call, I wanted you to know that I'm not afraid of you."

"I'm still not seeing a reason to not have you dragged out of here," Blaine said.

"Because everyone would see me standing up to you. Right now it's just a private affair," Smythe said, and he really was cool and unaffected in this, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

"I could have you shot. My people are closing in on you now," Blaine said, and with a quick glance around the room, Kurt was able to confirm that this was not a bluff.

"Not in front of all these witnesses, Blaine. We both know the fine art of assassination takes more finesse than that. Please," Smythe finished with a scoff. "See, what's going to happen is I'm going to walk out of here under my own fruition, because I already got what I came for."

"Well, I for one, can't wait to see the back of you," Blaine practically growled.

"Hmmm… Good night, Anderson. Oh, and Kurt, it was lovely meeting you." Sebastian Smythe turned to leave, and started towards the exit, at a leisurely pace.

"Zizes," Blaine hissed, "Follow him and make sure he leaves, then get back to me. Puck, wind up the usual crew and get them to the side lounge. Kurt, come with me."

…

Blaine rushed Kurt along to a side door that led into a comfortably decorated room – Persian carpet, velvet couches, dark colors – quite in contrast to the coolness and strictness of the marble ballroom next door. They were the only two in there.

"Are you okay?" Blaine said, facing him.

"I'm fine," Kurt said.

"Did he touch you?"

"No."

"Good," Blaine said, and before anything else could be done, the door burst open…and Santana, Wes, Mike, Tina, and several others Kurt didn't recognize entered.

"Sit down," Blaine mumbled to Kurt, ushering over to one of the couches, but Blaine remained standing near the center of the room.

"What was that?" Santana asked sharply. She had been one of the people Kurt had noticed "closing in." It seems most of Blaine's crew had known something was up, even from across a crowded room.

"That's what I would like to know," Blaine said. "Did anyone see Smythe doing anything during the party?"

The group was silent.

"Lauren," Blaine said. "How did he get in?"

"A fake invitation. He was checked for weapons, like everyone else, but he wasn't recognized," Lauren said.

"I'm sure you'll be taking care of the holes in your supposedly top notch security," Blaine said.

"Yes, sir," she said, though her face tightened.

"Find out who let him in, and fire them. You're dismissed."

She nodded and exited the room.

"What did he want?" Artie asked as soon as Lauren was gone. "Smythe?"

"What he wanted," Blaine started, beginning to pace, "Was to humiliate me. To show me up at an event that was supposed to the exact opposite."

"A power play," said a calm voice compared to Blaine's barely contained yell. It was a Quinn. Everyone in the room looked at her, even Blaine stopped his pacing. "A good one at that. Subtle. Anything bigger would've been too showy, come across as desperate. What Smythe did was a whisper, a wave, a shudder. Like throwing a pebble into a pond, and the rings just grow."

Santana made a face. "When did you become a fucking poet?"

"Santana," Wes said in a warning tone. She crossed her arms, but didn't respond.

That's when Kurt spoke up, and Blaine jerked in his direction immediately. "There was something about him. Something off… cold." Kurt was staring at his hands, but looked up at the silence that followed his statement. He went a little red, finding everyone's eyes on him.

"Who the hell is this kid?" squawked Sue from the back corner.

"That's Kurt," Tina spoke up, saying it an inflection to imply it was obvious, and then, a little less sure, "You know, Blaine's… lover."

"Well, lover boy's chilling observations aside, we need to act," Sue said.

"I agree," Blaine said.

"Finally," muttered Sue.

Blaine ignored her. "Mike, Tina, Santana, Artie, Quinn… damage control. Get out there and find out who Sebastian Smythe talked to, what he said, and if it affected anyone… but with discretion. Sue. You do whatever the hell you do."

The woman smiled, maybe a little maniac. "Best order I ever had. Might be the first I ever follow."

The room emptied except for three.

"I noticed you left my name out," Wes said.

Blaine sighed, and took a seat himself, right next to Kurt. "I figured now was as good of any a time to ask if found anything on Sue."

"If we had found anything, I would have told you. She is ridiculously lethal in her dealings, but that isn't news," Wes said.

"Well, keep digging."

"We will be," Wes said. "Do you want me to go be on damage control too?"

"No. Kurt and I will be leaving early. I need you to play host for me. Make up a good excuse for my absence."

Wes scoffed lightly. "I'll tell them you were anxious to get home to spend quality time with your _lover._ People will eat that up."

With Wes gone from the lounge, Blaine stood and tugged Kurt off the couch and into a tight embrace and a searing kiss. When they separated they were both breathless.

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt said, as Blaine brought a hand up to cup his cheek. "I didn't like him."

* * *

Aki- Hope you liked it. Review?


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Two days after the party, and Blaine was out for a drink, something he hadn't done since he had acquired Kurt. He went back to New Directions Tavern, because that was his place, and he liked at least some routine in his life. Some control.

Puck was there, of course, hovering behind him at the table as Blaine sat with a glass of scotch. Blaine was paying partial attention to the singer on stage, and lingering attention to the other patrons of the bar. There was a curly-haired man sitting alone at a table across the bar, parallel to Blaine, who was acting a bit jumpy. Blaine was sure the man glanced at Blaine's table once or twice.

Schuester was being particularly sycophantic, but Blaine had been absent as of late. Blaine had to shoo him away from his table after he came over for the fourth time. It was a little ridiculous.

"Puck," Blaine said, because now was as good as time as any, "Sit down."

Puck did, a bit awkwardly, not used to being on the same ground as his employer.

"What exactly is your history with Quinn Fabray?"

"What?" Puck blurted out, then added on, "Sir?"

"It's known that something has occurred between you two… I want to know what."

Puck licked his lips and looked hesitant. "We used to be… romantically attached." Puck winced at his own phrasing.

"That's it?" Blaine said, but it was hardly a question.

"Is this an order, sir?"

"I need to know," Blaine said, and that wasn't really an answer, but he was leaving it for Puck to decide.

"We, um," Puck started, "When we were teenagers… had a thing, and she got pregnant. We gave the baby away, and… that was it."

"Hmmm," Blaine said, then, "That's all, Puck. Take off tomorrow, on full pay."

Later night, Blaine phoned Wes. "I need you to look into something for me, besides Sue."

"What?"

"A child."

…

There was a quiet knock on the library doorway. Kurt had finally ventured back in the room after a long tenure avoiding it. It was Mrs. Hudson standing there.

"There's a call for you, Kurt," she said softly.

"For me?" he asked, surprised. He didn't get calls, especially here.

She nodded. "You can pick it up right here," she said, pointing the phone on the end table right by Kurt.

She left to give him privacy as Kurt picked up the receiver.

"Hello, this is Kurt."

"Hi, Kurt, I'm calling from Memorial Hospital about Burt Hummel. You're his emergency contact?"

"Yes," he said, worry already clawing at his insides. "Is he alright?"

"I'm sorry," the woman who was on the line's professionalism wavered as emotion sunk into her tone, "But he had a heart attack and has slipped into a coma."

"How – how did this happen? He was supposed to be getting the best care?" Kurt blurted out, on the edge of hysteria.

"We have been giving the best, Mr. Hummel," the woman said calmly. "But he has a weak heart. He's stable write now, but considering that this is the second coma he has gone into in the last half of year because of a heart attack, we don't think it is likely that he will wake up under his own power."

"What does that mean?"

"We're looking for a heart donor, but… look, if you would like to come to the hospital, I can set a meeting with your father's head physician, and you can discuss the options—"

"No," Kurt said, loudly and fierce, "There are no _options._ He needs to get to better. He has to be okay. Get him a heart." And with that he slammed down the phone, and the tears started.

He was gasping, too, and he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? He wrapped his arms around himself, yet he felt cold and empty and there was nothing by pain and dread filling that emptiness. This had all been for his dad after all, his dad who he had been so purposefully avoiding as of late. Tears were rolling down his face nonstop, unwilled. Everything swam and was unfocused in front of his eyes. He didn't know how long he was like this, overwhelmed with emotion and subsequently drowning in it.

"Kurt?" A worried voice, cutting through the barrier of misery, but Kurt couldn't center on it. "God, Kurt, what's wrong"

There were hands on his face, cupping it. He blinked. Blaine was sitting across from him.

"My dad," Kurt managed to get out through hitching breath. "He –," Kurt said, but couldn't go on.

"Calm down, Kurt, you're going to have a panic attack," Blaine said, but he said it all softly. Blaine was thumbing at his tears, wiping them from his cheeks. "Just breathe," Blaine whispered. "Slowly, come on."

After a few moments, Kurt had calmed enough to choke out the story of the phone call to Blaine. "And I just can't," Kurt finished off, "I can't lose him." The tears started anew.

Neither knew who moved first, but the next thing, Kurt was sobbing into Blaine's shoulder as Blaine wrapped his arms tight around Kurt.

"I can't lose him," Kurt repeated over and over. "He's the only thing I have."

Blaine's embrace tightened. "It's okay," he said, "It's okay," even though it was a lie, but it was a comforting lie.

They stayed like that until Kurt cried himself out and passed out from the exhaustion of sudden, heavy feelings. Blaine moved from the boy's grip and laid him down on the couch. Kneeling beside him, he brushed his hair away from his face then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.

He went to his office immediately office, and jabbed a number into the phone. He was calling the Chief of Medicine.

"Hello?"

"This is Blaine Anderson. You need to put Burt Hummel's name on top of the transplant list."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, I know you hold a lot of, uh, sway, but it doesn't exactly work that –"

"Listen," Blaine cut across, "I don't care how _it works_. You will his name on the top of the transplant list. I don't care if you kicking a nun from the spot. You will get him a heart. You will keep him alive. I swear to God, if you don't keep him alive…" His hands were shaking. It was anger, barely suppressed as he talked through gritted teeth. The threat was unfinished, but even unfinished, said enough.

He ended the call. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't need an answer. He would be obeyed.

…

Kurt woke up, confused and slightly uncomfortable on a leather couch. He pushed up on his elbows and spied Blaine sitting across the room, reading a book, and everything came back. He groaned, because for a blissful moment when he woke up he wasn't caught in the treachery of his reality.

He had caught Blaine's attention, for Blaine had put down his book and got up from his chair. Kurt sat up all the way.

Blaine sat next to him – Kurt was following him with his eyes – and grabbed a box of tissues from the endtable. "Here," he offered to Kurt.

"Thanks," Kurt said, tugging out of a tissue and discreetly blowing his nose. He could tell his eyes were puffy. He probably looked horrible.

"I had Mrs. Hudson make tea," Blaine was saying, fiddling around with a rather ornate tea set spread on a tray on the coffee before them. "Here," he said again, handing Kurt a cup.

Kurt wrapped his hands around the lukewarm cup. "I feel so embarrassed," he said quietly.

"Never feel embarrassed to have emotions, Kurt. "

He shrugged one shoulder lamely and stared down at murky brown of his tea. "I sorta freaked out on you."

"It's okay. I've been there."

Kurt must've given Blaine an odd, skeptical look at that point, for Blaine said, "I've lost people I cared about."

"Do you mean…," Kurt started to say, the library reminding him something.

"You can finish," Blaine said lightly.

Kurt grimaced, but said, "Jeremiah?"

Blaine let out of a single laugh. "No, Jeremiah is alive, or was last I heard of him."

"But he was your boyfriend?" Kurt asked carefully.

"Yes."

"And… you loved him?"

"Yes," Blaine said, a little quieter… maybe vulnerable, if Blaine Anderson could be vulnerable.

"And he left you?"

Blaine sighed. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, more words without thinking, but he found he meant them.

"You don't have to be sorry over Jeremiah. He's a footnote. I've faced worse."

"The people you lost?" Kurt didn't know why he wanted to know, why he was asking, but he found himself _caring_ about Blaine… but then again, Blaine just was the guy who held him as he literally cried on his shoulder.

"My brother," Blaine said. "My parents too, but it's my brother who… he was quite a bit older than me, and we didn't always get along… I miss him." Blaine blinked a few times and seemed to come back into himself, maybe too much, and said, "But that's neither here nor there. "

"Blaine, I –"

"Your father is going to be okay. I'll make sure of it. I promise," he said very seriously, with unwavering eye contact.

"You can't promise that," Kurt said, and that was the sad truth, he knew. Life was flickering and fragile, and even the best of medical technology couldn't make it eternal.

"Yes, I can," Blaine said adamantly, "For you." And in that moment, Kurt believed him.

* * *

I was inspired so you get a faster than usual update. I might still do an update by midweek, like I have been doing, but I am also getting new/more work hours, so it might be pushed back to Friday.

Hope I tore your hearts out with this chapter. Bye.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

That night Kurt tossed and turned, not really sleeping for about two hours after he tried to go to bed. Maybe it was the nap he had earlier in the day, but Kurt knew it was the ever constant anxiousness in his head and in his heart. The pillows and blankets here, though higher quality than he had ever had the chance to indulge in during his normal life, were no comfort.

He needed something tangible. Otherwise, he felt lost and alone; the pressures of his father's dire health and possible death was piercing his spirit from every angle and every second. And other than his father having a miraculous turn of health, there was only one thing in the whole of Long Island that Kurt could imagine him comforting to sleep tonight – The one thing that had, today, comforted him into a state of sleep.

Kurt got out of bed and left his room. His heart thudded with nerves, but what was propelling him was stronger. He stopped at a certain door and turned the knob, slipping into the blackened room beyond. The door clicked close as he pushed it back behind him.

Blinking a few times, he was able to make out the form of a bed and the lump that was a body.

"Blaine," Kurt called out. It was barely more than a whisper, but it sounded so loud in the quiet of night. "Blaine," Kurt repeated, a little louder.

Blaine woke with a start. Then, "Oh, Kurt," he said, all groggy. "You shouldn't sneak in at night. I'll think you're trying to kill to me."

"Sorry," Kurt said, all hushed.

Blaine straightened up a little and narrowed his eyes to see better through the darkness. "What's wrong?"

Kurt took a few steps toward the bed. "I was wondering if… if I could stay in here tonight?"

Blaine's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn't think Kurt saw, with the way he was staring at his clasped hands.

In a gesture, Blaine pulled back the blanket. Kurt looked up and caught Blaine's eye. They shared a little nod. Kurt closed the rest of the distance and climbed into the bed.

Blaine pulled the covers up over Kurt and sunk back down onto his pillow. Once he was lying flat, Kurt moved closer, so their knees were bumping.

"I need –," Kurt said, but nothing more. Rather, he moved a tentative arm up and over Blaine's torso. Blaine understood, for he then wrapped his own arms around Kurt – and swore Kurt's own hold on him got tighter as a result – and moved so that there was no other any space between them. Kurt tucked his forehead into the curve of Blaine's neck.

Blaine found himself almost nervous. He had been in this intimate of a position and more intimate positions with Kurt. This time Kurt had come to him, clearly and not in the heat of the moment. Kurt had come to him, and Blaine got to feel him in his arms, and it was completely voluntary.

Blaine pressed a kiss into Kurt's hair, and the boy was asleep. "I love you," Blaine said.

…

Morning came with very little light. It was overcast, thick gray clouds hanging low in the sky, and thus, through the window curtains, not much light penetrated into the bedroom where Kurt and Blaine remained interwoven.

Wes arrived at the Anderson Estate shortly after the turn of nine o'clock. Though he went to the breakfast table, where Blaine always was this time in the morning, usually just finishing his perusal of the newspaper, all he found was Santana.

"Do you eat here all the time?"

"It's a good spread," Santana said, taking a big bite of bagel.

"Is Blaine around?"

"He's sleeping late today, and I'm not walking in on that," Santana said, raising an eyebrow coyly.

"Ah, Kurt," Wes said, taking a seat at the table.

"You don't have to sound so grumpy about it," Santana chastised. "I like Kurt… as much as I like people other than Brittany."

"It's not _Kurt_ that is the problem. It's just… I think Kurt is a problem."

"Wow, be more cryptic," Santana said, wiping a smear of cream cheese off her plate with her finger and sucking it off.

"Look, I don't have a problem with Kurt as a person. I barely know him, and what I do know seems alright. I don't like what Blaine is investing in having Kurt around."

"You don't like the vulnerability of Blaine with a lover?" Santana asked.

"I don't like the vulnerability of Blaine with a coerced lover. Kurt is only loyal to Blaine through what Blaine can give him, and I can think of one or two other people in this city who could give Kurt the exact same things."

Santana laughed. "You think Kurt's a rat. That Sebastian would buy him out."

"I think Kurt is a potential rat."

Santana tsked. "Have you met Kurt?"

"I told you, it's not about Kurt as a person, it's about Kurt as a –"

"About Kurt as a what?" Blaine was standing in the doorway, giving Wes a bit of a stink eye.

Wes seemed a little shaken at Blaine's sudden appearance, but he leveled his gaze at Blaine nonetheless and said confidently, "Kurt as a liability."

"Again, wasn't it you who said I should have something nice in my life. Didn't we have this discussion already. Wes."

"No we haven't. Before I," he paused to consider his words. Santana was watching the discussion with the fascination of a tennis match. "Disagreed with Kurt's presence here for his sake, and now I'm doing it for yours, now that you're…"

"What?"

"Emotionally invested," Wes said, almost a challenge.

Blaine's eyes narrowed and Santana's widened.

"I don't really see how this is your –"

"Of course it's my business. It's my job to be in your business and keep you safe, even from the things you don't want to see are dangers. As I was saying to Santana before you came in, Kurt is only loyal to you, to all of us, because of your money. Where's he going to be if he finds someone who can take care of his father and not ask so much of him?"

"Kurt's not like that," Blaine said, his voice low and dangerous.

"You don't know that –" Wes started.

"Kurt's not like that," Blaine repeated, and it was scarier this time, and not because he was trying to be intimidated, but because there was an honest sense of emotion.

"Fine," Wes said, "Maybe he does have a sense of honor, but I heard his father has had a turn for the worse… where is he going to be if his father doesn't get better?"

Blaine blinked a few times before saying, "Did you come here for something specific."

"Yes, actually, the information you wanted on Quinn."

"Santana can you leave us for a few minutes."

"Fine," she grumbled, leaving the room.

"Also, set up a meeting between Quinn and myself this afternoon."

…

"Off to see your dad?"

Kurt paused in the living room, where he had been heading towards the door. His eyes were red, his hair flat, but he was still dressed nicely.

"Yeah," Kurt said, tugging at the lapel of his jacket in a nervous gesture. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Of course not," Blaine said, approaching Kurt. "I already had Sam bring the car around."

Kurt smiled a weak smile, and Blaine read it as genuine, just sad.

"Wait here," Blaine said. He stepped into the entry hall and went to the coat closet. A moment later he was back in front of Kurt and gently looping a pale blue scarf around the boy's neck. "It's a bit nippy out," Blaine explained.

Kurt lifted his fingers to feel the material. "It's soft. Cashmere?"

"And it matches your eyes," Blaine added.

Kurt bit his lip and stayed quiet for a little while. "Well," he said, after his prolonged silence, "I guess I should get going." He started toward the door.

Kurt's hand had barely brushed the doorknob, Blaine called out after him. "You'll be back for dinner?"

Kurt twirled around, "Yeah, I'll be there."

…

"You wanted to see me."

Quinn was standing like an ethereal force. There was something about her: cool, collected, unflappable. It's what made her both dangerous and desirable.

"Come sit," Blaine said.

Quinn approached, but stopped short just behind the chair, gripping the back with both hands. "I'll stand."

"As you wish," Blaine said, and remained standing as well. "There was something I wanted to show you." He picked something off his desk and held it out toward her, face front.

"A photograph," she said blandly. "Of a little girl? Stunningly brilliant."

"Her name's Beth, and she's you're little girl."

Quinn was already light-skinned, but she got paler, and there were tension lines around her mouth. "Puck told you."

"Good thing you two already weren't talking," Blaine said. "So this is Beth. She's eight years old, has an adoptive mother, and takes ballet class. And you haven't seen since you gave her away."

"Why are you doing this?" she hissed.

"And you love her, don't you?" Blaine said, continuing his monologue of sorts, rounding his desk and moving toward Quinn. "You love her even though you didn't keep her."

"Is this supposed to be a threat? Dangle my daughter in front of me to keep me in line," Quinn said, and it was strong, firm, but Blaine could hear the waver in her tone.

"Sounds like it, doesn't it?" he said, moving even closer to her. He took her hand from its piercing grip from the back of the chair and pressed the photograph into her palm. "But it isn't… And I'm the only one in the city who wouldn't use her against you, and I want you to think about that when you thing about all your loyalties."

Quinn released a shuddering breath, her façade cracking. She blinked and a single tear escaped the corner of one eye. "You bastard," she said, though she sounded relieved, "What're you playing at with that move?"

"Love is more powerful than fear. Corny, I know. But I'm getting you to owe me."

She wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, replacing her mask, she said, "And you think you get that from a photograph."

"No , but Beth's adoptive mother is more than willing to set up a meeting between you and your daughter. Turns out Beth has been a bit curious about her birth parents… love is more powered than fear, Quinn, and I just gave you back something you love."

…

"I'm sorry, Dad, I'm really, really sorry. I kind of hate myself. No, I do, and I know you would tell me not to. I haven't come to see you lately because I've been so…" Kurt rubbed at his eyes. "They say that coma patents can hear everything around them, but you didn't remember last time, so I think they just say that to make us family members sitting next to your bed feel better. So that we can get closure or something, but I'm going to give it a try. I'm going to tell you the truth.

"I'm in a relationship with Blaine Anderson. Yes, that Blaine Anderson. It's messed up, hardly romantic or respectable. You'd probably be disappointed in me, but I had to. For you. Blaine offered me a way to save you, or least a best shot at saving you, in exchange for… well, I think you can figure the rest out.

"I hated him at first though. And was terrified of him. I mean, it was only natural. Now,… I don't hate him so much. I think I might even – but it's stupid. Stockholm Syndrome, right? And he can't think of me as more, can he? Sure, he's been more human lately, but it has to be just because we've grown used to each other. If he cared about me as a person he would've tried dating me a normal way… wouldn't have forced me to…, well, you know, but, he hasn't, really, lately. But does that make a difference, when he did before?"

Kurt released a noiseless, humorless laugh. "I really need you, Dad, and it's kind of pathetic, because you should be the one relying on me right now. And Dad –"

And that's when an arm wrapped roughly around his upper body where he sat and another hand with a cloth was pressed over his mouth. There was a chemical smell, and Kurt plunged into unconsciousness.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Blaine checked his watch for the umpteenth time, and then sawed at a piece of chicken on his plate. He didn't eat it, but tossed his fork down on the table in a way that was almost tantrum-like.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Anderson?" asked Mrs. Hudson anxiously the door leading to the kitchen.

"Kurt said he'd be home for dinner," Blaine said.

"He was going to see his father, perhaps he just lost track of time."

Blaine ground his teeth. "Except Sam wouldn't have let them stay out this long," Blaine said, but thought that Kurt could be very stubborn and Sam seemed to take a personal liking to the boy. Most had – even Santana — which was saying something, and Brittany, which was saying something in a different way. Brittany picked up mean and nice pretty well.

"I'm going to call Sam," Blaine said, getting up from the table and going to the phone. He dialed Sam's number. The phone went to voicemail. "His phone's not on," Blaine seethed.

"Could you call Kurt?" Mrs. Hudson said.

Blaine rested his palms on flat on the table and leaned forward. "He doesn't have a phone. He was too poor to pay for one before I met him, and I never got him one. God dammit it!"

Mrs. Hudson jumped at his outburst. "You could… call the hospital?" she suggested.

"You're a genius, Mrs. Hudson," Blaine said.

"I'm sure you would have thought of it if you weren't so stressed."

Blaine connected to the hospital through the extension to Burt's floor. He knew because Blaine made it his priority to know necessary phone numbers off the top of his head. He needed to make calls with any phone at any time and couldn't be crippled by not having a personal phone with needed numbers programmed.

A woman, probably the nurse working the nurse's station, answered the call, but before she could get through her introductions, Blaine cut across her.

"I need you to go to room 5D, Burt Hummel's room, and look for a visitor, a young man – Hummel's son."

"Sorry, sir, but that's not exactly what we do here. We need to keep attentions towards the patients –"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" Blaine said.

"Um, no…?" she responded.

"Blaine Anderson."

There was a sharp intake of breathe that Blaine barely heard, but heard nonetheless. It would have made him grin if the situation wasn't so dire.

"Now," Blaine said. "Go look."

"Right away, sir," the woman said, and Blaine thought he picked up the sound of her running, which satisfied him somewhat.

"There no one in 5D, except for the coma patient," the woman said.

Blaine's heart sped up, and he was in a rushed, motorized haze the next half hour. He ended the phone call with the nurse and started another with Wes, telling him to get his most reliable man to the hospital for a search of the premises. Then he was behind the wheel of his car, alone, speeding his way to the hospital. When he arrived, rushing up to the fifth floor, Wes was already there, waiting by the elevators, waiting for Blaine.

"I told you not to come," Wes said. "Especially without Puck. This could be a hot bed of the enemy action."

"And I ignored you," Blaine said, taking strides past Wes and toward Burt Hummel's room. He needed to see it vacant of Kurt with his own eyes, because he wasn't prepared to accept him missing. "Where are we?"

"The car Sam drove Kurt here in is still in the parking garage, but there is no sign of either of them. Jeff is reviewing security footage. Trent is talking to staff – people tend to like him. And Nick is searching the premise, starting with Mr. Hummel's room then fanning out," Wes said.

"The Warblers? You really did bring the best," Blaine commented as he stopped outside of 5D, and indeed, there was only Burt Hummel in his hospital bed, attached to wires and IV's, a heart monitor beeping methodically.

"I'll go check up on the Warblers," Wes said, excusing himself.

Alone, Blaine took a few steps into the room. He had seen a picture of Burt Hummel before, in the file Santana had accrued upon background searching Kurt. Blaine hadn't paid it much time or heed, though. He had forgotten the man's appearance as soon as he saw it. Now he had time to look, and honestly, Blaine didn't see much of Burt in Kurt. Maybe there would be something if he were conscious.

"Well, Mrs. Hummel," Blaine said, at his bedside, "We meet at last." Blaine made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, empty and self-derisive. "I'm your son's lover," he said to the comatose man, "I hardly think you'd approve of me." He paced to the end of the bed. "I don't suppose you can wake up and tell me what happened to Kurt?"

Nothing.

"I'll find him," Blaine said. "I'll make sure he's okay."

Just then, Wes rushed back into the room. "We found Sam."

Sam had been found in a locked supply closet down the hall. There was a cut on his forehead from where he had been knocked out, and he had been bound and gagged with medical tape. He had just woken up recently. Nick had heard him struggling, trying to call out, while searching. He was sitting on the floor, massaging his wrists where the tape had been ripped off when Blaine arrived.

"What happened?" Blaine demanded. "Where's Kurt?"

"I was waiting in the hall," Sam said. Nick was crouched next to him. "Kurt was… speaking to his dad, so I backed up a bit to give him privacy, you know? But I was keeping my eye on the door the whole time. Then someone just came up behind me. Chloroform, they were trying to use chloroform. I struggled, someone else… I thought they were going to help me, he was dressed in scrubs, but he took out a gun and hit me with the butt. It didn't knock me out, but made me… off. Enough for the other guy to get me with the chloroform… and then I woke up in the closet, bound."

"What about Kurt?" Blaine demanded.

"I don't know," Sam said, sounding honestly distressed. "I'm sorry, I don't know."

Blaine closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. It was getting worse. There was less and less chance that this was a misunderstanding – Blaine knew when Kurt was late it wasn't an innocent mistake, but he wanted to believe it was. He wanted, wanted, wanted it to be anything other than what it was.

Wes was looking at his phone screen. "Jeff has found something." In a jiffy, Wes and Blaine made there was to another level of the building to the security room.

"This place has a terrible camera set up. Tons of blind spots. I think someone is siphoning money from the budget, because this shit is really outmoded."

"On topic, Jeff," Wes scolded mildly. He knew Blaine was on a short fuse.

"Okay," Jeff said, clicking away at a computer keyboard and bringing up a blurry gray image to the screen in front of them. "This is door in from the parking garage and here is Sam and Kurt entering. From there I can follow them up to 5D." Jeff flipped through several camera feeds to show the progress of the two figures to the room. "There are no cameras in the room, and like I said, horrible camera set up. I think this one was got jarred out of the proper angle. Probably a cleaning cure, not by evil design –"

Wes cleared his throat and Jeff returned to topic. "In the corner of this frame is the door to 5D. We see Kurt going in, Sam waiting out. Fast forward, Sam backs out of frame. Fast forward a little bit, a man in scrubs enters the room, then another, with a gurney, and then—" The screen showed the two men in scrubs pushing out gurney, now obviously with a body on it, although covered up with a sheet.

"Is he…?" and it hurt Blaine to say anymore, seeing where Kurt was treated like a corpse.

"I don't think so." Wes jumped in. "If they had killed him, they would have left the body for us to find, to know. And I doubt Sam would still be alive either. I don't know what whoever they are—" Blaine gave Wes a glare, "Fine, Sebastian Smythe. I don't what he wants with Kurt… alive. But I fully believe is he alive right now."

"I suppose now you're going to say this is the problem you have with Kurt?" Blaine said crossly.

"No, I'm not. I was actually going to try to apologize for what I said yesterday."

"Don't," Blaine said, and the two friends caught each others' eyes. "You don't have to. You were being realistic. You were looking after me. And now I know you will look after me by doing the best you can to get Kurt back."

"You can count on me," said Wes.

"Should I leave?" said Jeff.

"No," Blaine said. "Keep scouring those tapes for anything that might be a clue as to who those men are and where they went and anything at all that could help."

Jeff saluted and started working furiously over the keyboard.

Wes tugged Blaine out of the room and into the empty hall. The security room was on the bottom level of the hospital, all storage and morgue.

"Blaine," Wes said, "You should go."

"What? No. Do I have to ignore you again tonight?"

"Please," Wes said, "You're very good at what you do, but that's not what the Warblers are good at, who are the best at what they do. Try to sleep. You'll need your wits about you for the days to come."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep, Wes."

"I know, but try."

…

Kurt was neither here nor there. He didn't feel awake or asleep. It was neither dark nor light. It was just a dull, dizzy, confusing, and incomprehensible middle state of being.

He blinked. Huh. That meant he had eyes. It meant he was tangible, real, within a body. He blinked again, and oh, were those eyelids heavy to move. He began to seep into consciousness, and everything felt worse. He blinked again and the world in front of became to take hazy shape.

And he was scared, because he didn't know where he was. He was facing an unfamiliar wall, wood paneled, and the room was dimly light, something behind him… a lamp? There were no windows. And he couldn't move. Well, he could lift his head, and wiggle his fingers, but his arms and legs were immobile, even as much as he strained to move them. His thoughts were passing by sluggishly, but he realized he was tied up. To a wooden chair, and what looked like a rather nice one, as far as Kurt could tell, with carved arms and what felt like a nice cushioned bottom.

Kurt flexed his hand and stared at the rope tying his wrist to the arms of the chair, focusing on it so his vision sharpened. He was much more awake now, but no less confused.

There were sounds of footsteps on steps, muffled but growing louder, and then near, and a door opened. Kurt lurched his head sideways to see the door on the side wall, a little behind him. Two large men came filed into the room first and flanked the doorway, revealing the last man of the group. Sebastian Smythe.

"Hello, Kurt."

Kurt followed Sebastian with his eyes as the man circled the room to stand in front Kurt.

"You were very easy to get to. You would think Anderson would keep better protection of his things."

Kurt ignored the implication, for another, more pressing thought came to him. "What happened to Sam?" Kurt croaked out, his throat dry.

"The hunky blond chauffeur? He's alive. After all, we had to leave enough clues for Anderson to figure what happened to you… make him sweat."

Kurt swallowed instinctively to try and help his throat, but his mouth was dry too. "What do you want?" he ended up whispering, though he wished he had the ability to demand it – loud, clear, and unafraid.

Sebastian rounded the chair and ended up behind Kurt, where he couldn't turn his neck and see, but Kurt could feel him. Feel his presence, his body heat, and then his breathe. Sebastian leaned down to hiss in his ear. "I want to _hurt_ Anderson, and not superficially. I want to tear out his spirit. I want to make his soul bleed. And I want to use you to do it."

* * *

Aki- Well, now I know if I ever want to get reviews out of you all, use a cliffhanger, lol. Anyway, I was house-/dogsitting this weekend for my brother, so I watched Once Upon a Time and wrote this. So, here is possibly my fastest update yet on this story. I hope you enjoy, although I know it doesn't answer all the questions... but this arc is going to take a little while, so...


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_"I want to _hurt_ Anderson, and not superficially. I want to tear out his spirit. I want to make his soul bleed. And I want to use you to do it."_

…

Kurt trembled. How could he not after hearing something so cruel said so genuine and passionate.

"Boys," Sebastian said as he stood up straight, no longer looming over Kurt. The two men flanking the door approached, all large and imposing. Shit, this was it, wasn't it? Kurt squeezed his eyes shut as if that was some sort of defense. It was the only thing he could do.

The ropes tying him were undone. And that was it. He blinked his eyes open.

Sebastian was holding out a water bottle to him. Kurt eyed it skeptically. Sebastian caught Kurt's look and rolled his eyes. Sebastian twisted off the cap and took a sip. "See, not poisoned."

Kurt took the water bottle, glaring a little, but gulped it down once he had it. He was parched.

"That door locks from the outside, and there will be a guard standing on the other side day and night," Sebastian said. "You're underground. There are no windows, no conveniently sized heating vents or duct work. I'm really glad my father had a room built specifically for keeping captives in style."

"You're enjoying this," Kurt said, with incredibility and disgust. He was massaging his wrists, still sitting, for he had a tingling feeling in both his hands and feet where the blood rushed back to them. He was sure any attempt to stand would be less than stable.

Sebastian raised a manicured eyebrow. "Why not? I got one over on Blaine Anderson."

"And why's that so important?" Kurt said, because he was left here with no options, but maybe the right information could help him out somehow.

"He killed my father," Sebastian said, and for a second Kurt felt sympathy for him. He knew what it was like to lose a parent, but then Sebastian added on, so blaze, "It's a pride thing." And it wasn't about Sebastian's father at all.

"Each generation of the Andersons has kept each generation of the Smythes on the ropes." Sebastian put his hands behind his back and began to pace as he spoke. "Most of my ancestors didn't want the Andersons gone, they just wanted their piece of the pie. Their piece of the city. Some of their own profit and control. But the Anderson family, oh, the Anderson family, they were never content with sharing.

"My family, Kurt, has been a laughingstock for too long, and I am not content with second best. I intend to destroy Blaine Anderson. Everything he is. Everything he has." Sebastian stopped pacing and faced Kurt. "Until his family name's barely an echo and my family will finally have its victory and its dignity."

There was only honesty craze on Sebastian's face. Kurt took a breath and said, "And I'm part of this, why?"

Sebastian tisked. "Do I need to answer that? You're the thing he loves most."

Kurt laughed. "He doesn't love me."

It was Sebastian's turn to give a skeptical look. "You can't lie your way out of this situation, Kurt. I saw the way he was with you at the party. It was more than just possessiveness, then having a pretty little thing on his arm to show off. I've seen that in many megalomaniac people." He let out an airy laugh. "I've been that."

Kurt remembered the party to. The way Blaine rushed to his side when he saw Sebastian closing in on Kurt. They way he pulled Kurt into the lounge and held him tight, concerned. "He doesn't love me," Kurt repeated, and it was a lot less sure. "He –," Kurt had to explain, because if Sebastian couldn't use Kurt to hurt Blaine, that Sebastian had no reason to hurt Kurt himself. It was the loophole, the narrow chance of survival. "My dad is ill. Blaine offered to pay for his medical treatment if I lived with him… and slept with him."

Sebastian gave a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowed, trying to stare into Kurt. Kurt pursed his lips under the inspection. Sebastian approached and reached out for Kurt's cheek. Kurt jerked away from his hand, but still sitting, with Sebastian blocking his only way to stand, he couldn't move out of the way.

Sebastian grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look him in the eye. He was so close, maybe an inch between the tips of their noses.

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Blaine. Do you love Blaine?"

"…No," he said, and his voice went higher than normal.

Sebastian let go of Kurt's face and took a few steps back, a smirk firmly planted on his face. He was unfazed, unflapped, and Kurt wondered that meant about his answer.

"You're a horrible liar, Kurt. But that's okay. We already have enough liar's in this world." With that, Sebastian exited the room.

…

The room Kurt had been locked in was nice, as Sebastian had said. Kurt explored it, as much as it could be explored, once Sebastian and his cronies had left. There was a bed against the wall his back had been to in one corner and in the other a doorless nook that was a small bathroom with the necessities.

Exploring kept him calm. Kurt was nervous. No, that was undercutting it. He was terrified. Perpetually faster heartbeat, jumpy, near nervous breakdown terrified. He was in the clutches of Sebastian Smythe, Blaine's number one enemy, and it seemed that Sebastian was true to his words. This room was inescapable.

Of course, underneath all the other mountainous problems, the last Sebastian had said before he left the room, kept creeping up in his mind and tickling him. It was the least of everything, and yet… what did Sebastian mean that Kurt was a liar? He hadn't lied about Blaine.

It was just that his emotions were running high. Kurt was kidnapped after all, how could anything he said seem calm and truthful. Yes, that had to be it.

Now back to the matter at hand. Trying to figure out how to survive.

…

Blaine hadn't slept well.

Of course, he hadn't tried. There was no way it was going to happen. He didn't even need to touch coffee to stay awake; his own running, buzzing mind did that for him. Rather, he stewed in his office. He stewed in the library. He stewed in the living room. It wasn't a good night.

He was back in his office in the normal hours of the morning.

"Would you like something to eat?" Mrs. Hudson tentatively asked, standing out in the hall.

"No," Blaine snapped, meaner than necessary and not even caring. She was gone and he never even looked up from his desk. There wasn't anything on his desktop, but he was staring at it nonetheless.

Some sort of inclination came over him, an odd impulse, or maybe not so odd. It was, after all, something he turned to for a stinging comfort when he was accosted by his less pleasant memories and their accompanying emotions. He riffled through a desk drawer and pulled out his photo album.

Blaine thumbed through the pages swiftly, having long since memorized their order and content. His school friends, mostly alive still, but not friends. And if friends, also alliances and employees and business confidants and hardly friends without taint. And then gone, having rejected him, like everyone should, Jeremiah. And dead, leaving a legacy that he had no choice by to shoulder, his father. And dead again, a woman who should have sheltered him from it, his mother. And the worst wound, Cooper, his brother, violently killed. Cooper, who should have been the Anderson family leader now, and whose death changed his mother, his father, and Blaine – that turned Blaine into marble.

That's when the lava boiled over, and his body possessed itself with in-the-moment rage. He was surging, his blood, his muscles, everything. His hands hurt. His eyes burned.

"Christ, Blaine, what're you doing?" That was Wes' voice, and Blaine saw his figure rushing into the room and stopping in front of him, and say quieter, for Blaine had stilled for a moment, "You love that thing."

In Blaine's hands was the photo album, a clump of pages already torn out of the middle, strewn on the floor and the desk top. He was trying to tear it in half now, he had stopped, but not released the tension in his arms, and the front cover was halfway off.

Blaine tried to continue, but anger wasn't focused at the album anymore. He threw it to the floor. He was on his feet. He didn't know when he stood.

Wes was staring at him, a soft sort of worry evident on his face.

"I don't even have a picture of him!" Blaine screamed. "I didn't get him a cell phone. And his father's _dying_ and I couldn't even keep that promise. And I – I forced him to be with me and couldn't even tell him that… And I couldn't protect him!"

"Christ, are you crying?" Wes said in shock. He sounded so small next to everything Blaine was and was feeling.

"No!" Blaine said, but he turned his back to Wes immediately. He felt something wet on his face. He was crying. He didn't know the last time he cried.

"And now he's gonna be like them," Blaine said, a margin calmer, and his throat hurt. How loud had been yelling?

"I know you said it – and I kind of saw it – but I didn't realize that – I'm so sorry, Blaine. I'll do everything, I mean, I already was…but I'll do it harder. We'll figure something out. I promise."

…

He wasn't sure what time it was. There was no clock anywhere in the room Kurt had been imprisoned in. He had no watch on when he went to the hospital. It could have been two hours or six hours or a day or two days. He didn't know. At one point, a tray of food was brought into him. He stomach hurt quite a bit from emptiness, so he ate without worrying about drugs and whatever else might be with it. Now he was going to sleep, worn out, if not extremely tired. He slipped away into unconsciousness smoothly.

Sometimes you just know things, like when you turn to see someone staring at you because you somehow felt their eyes upon them. That's how Kurt was woke up, however long he was asleep, to Sebastian standing there. He was quite standing over Kurt, but he was up while Kurt was down.

Sebastian knew when he awoke.

"We looked into that claim you made about your father, and it's true, the money for his care does go back to Anderson."

Something must have showed in Kurt, on his face or in his gestures, as he pulled up into a sitting position, for Sebastian added, "Don't worry. I don't plan to do anything to your father… doesn't look like I much need to."

It was a vicious reminder of Burt's state of health, something that had dropped from the priority list in Kurt's mind until now. It felt like a punch.

"It was really easy to get you." Sebastian had his hands in his pants pockets. It was all very laidback, a cocky sort of confidence. Kurt stared up at him and hoped it looked like a glare. He wanted to glare. "Like, really easy. I didn't expect to get you so fast. Its left me quite… befuddled, as what to do with you."

It sounded odd to Kurt's ears, that someone would commit a kidnapping without planning what to do with their kidnapped foe. Of course, he didn't know that Sebastian was being honest here. Was this all just a mind game? And to what end?

"If it's that bothersome for you," Kurt said, "You could just let me go, and be done with all of it."

Sebastian's grin widened. "Anderson may be paying your father's medical bills, but that doesn't change anything. I just thought I'd let you know that." And he left.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"He's a mess," said a whispered voice. "I don't think he's changed clothes in two days."

"I'll talk to him."

"You better have something good to tell him. I don't think random encouragement is going to help, Wes."

"I'll take care of it."

"Well, get him out of the house, at least, before he turns into a crazy hermit or something."

Blaine pushed through the door. "I can hear you, you know." Wes and Santana stared at him wide-eyed, like guilty children caught. He shuffled over to the dinner table, looked morosely at the food then promptly ignored it.

"Then I'll say it to your face," Santana said. "You're a fucking mess."

Blaine poured himself a mug of coffee and started drinking it black. "And I don't care what you think."

She scoffed. "Then why do I even work for you? Don't lie. You get your shit together."

Blaine banged his mug down on the table with a thunk and the coffee sloshed onto the tablecloth. "You don't know anything!"

"I know that if it was Brittany I would be doing everything poss –"

Blaine cut her off. "You think I haven't? I have been looking into every possibility. I have my best people on it, but I'm stuck. Wes, tell her."

Wes sighed. "He's right. The Warblers have tracked Kurt's kidnapping back to Sebastian, and we know he was taken back to the Smythe property, but for all our surveillance, we don't know if he was moved from there. It's not like the Smythe property is lightly guarded."

"He's got me," Blaine said, looking off over both of his companions' heads. "He's got me stuck. Any act of aggression cause Kurt's death. Every moment of inaction could be it too."

Santana gave Wes an eye.

"Okay, Blaine," Wes said, standing and moving close to his friend. "Go get a shower, get changed, and we're gonna go out to New Directions, the three of us."

"Why?" he grumbled.

"Because if we're going to be miserable, then we're going to be drunk and miserable," Wes said, pushing Blaine lightly out of the room, directing him by the shoulders. "Sound fun?"

"No."

"Great. See you in a half hour."

…

Another immeasurable amount of time later, and Sebastian reappeared in Kurt's room. This time though he didn't close the door behind him.

"Come on," Sebastian said with a jerk of his head towards the stairs.

"Why?" Kurt asked, refusing to move.

"We're going to have dinner together," Sebastian said. "Just upstairs."

Kurt didn't have much room to protest, and it would be nice to get out of this room for a little while, to make sure and see with his own eyes that other parts of this world still existed.

When he got to the door, Sebastian latched a hand around Kurt's arm just above his elbow. Kurt wanted to jerk out of his grip, but resisted such urge, for a list of reasons. Sebastian led Kurt up the carpeted stairs, which leveled out into a nook off a large hallway. From the hallway he was led around a corner and then into a grand dining room quite like the one at Blaine's house, with a long, shiny wooden table running the length of it. But they didn't stop there, rather Sebastian tugged him to and through a door at the corner of the dining room into what was the kitchen. There was a small, two person table set up in the clear space of the floor.

"This just seems more personal," Sebastian said casually, only released Kurt's arm when Kurt was seated. There was no other person in sight, and there hadn't been, other than the guard at Kurt's door, on this whole tiny journey.

The table already had two complete place settings out, complete with both a water glass and a wine glass. Dinner was already served. There was even a lit candle between the two of them.

"This seems oddly ornate," Kurt said dryly.

"Only the best for my houseguest," Sebastian said, and it sounded way to light and tease-y for Kurt's taste. "Here," Sebastian said, lifting his glass of wine. "A toast to start the meal."

Kurt sat rigidly in his chair, arms at his side. "I'm pretty sure I don't have anything I want to toast with you."

"You have quite an attitude, don't you?" Sebastian said, at least somewhat amused if a little put off too. He held his glass aloft, as if a challenge. "To your health."

He took a sip from his cup, never breaking eye contact with Kurt. Setting his glass down, he took up his utensils and started on his meal. After he cut and chewed his own bite, he said, "Please, eat. Starting a starvation strike won't be very effective."

Mechanically, Kurt picked up his knife and fork and started to eat. It was delicious, but that was beside the point.

"Why does this feel awful a lot like an awkward date?" Kurt said after a stretch of two of them just eating without any shared words.

"Must you question everything?"

"Yes."

Sebastian laughed, loud and out and uncontrolled, not like his chuckles that were controlled and full of dark meaning. "You have spunk, Kurt," then quieter, almost sultry, "I like that. I really do. You're so much more than a pretty face, staying so strong through his whole captivity… It's a pity though, that Anderson found you first." He added on thoughtfully, "Though I suppose I only want you because Anderson has you. I'm shallow like that."

This didn't comfort Kurt at all. It wasn't about him, _Kurt_. It was about Sebastian and Blaine and Sebastian's ego.

Kurt put his utensils back on the table. He had no appetite left.

"Did I upset you?" Sebastian asked in mock concern.

"Are you going to kill me?" Kurt asked, bluntly, brokenly. This was all a game to Sebastian, and Kurt didn't know how to play, and he was much too lost in it to keep going, not at this point.

Sebastian reached across the table stroked the back of his fingers softly along the side of Kurt's face. Kurt sat purposefully still.

"Probably." It was almost tender, and that's what scared Kurt the most.

…

Across the bar, a curly-headed man rose to his feet and made his way toward their table. It was curious, for most people didn't dare approach without beckoning. Only the very brave, the very stupid, and the very desperate.

"Hello. My name is Jesse St. James," said the man with a suave sort of confidence. Blaine and Santana glared at him. Wes was eying his critically. Puck stepped forward menacingly. "I work for Sebastian Smyth."

That amped up everyone's reactions. Blaine stood up suddenly, and Wes followed by half a second, whether to help Blaine out or to hold him back depending on need.

Jesse put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "I think you're going to want to hear me out."

"Puck," Wes said, the order obvious. Puck moved in and started patting Jesse down.

"I wouldn't bring a weapon into your bar," Jesse said, somewhat exasperated. Puck pulled a revolver out of Jesse's inner jacket pocket. "Okay, you can't really expect me to come into your bar unarmed."

"Sit down," Blaine said. Jesse conceded, rather at ease. Wes had to tug on Blaine's sleeve to remind him to sit down as well. Puck loomed threateningly.

"Talk," Blaine commanded.

Jesse pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table. "These are Sebastian's demands."

"And he sent you to deliver them?" Wes asked as Blaine ripped open the envelope.

Jesse ran a hand through his hair in a tense sort of gesture. "The St. James family have worked for the Smythe family for many generations."

"Conditions for the safe return of a one Kurt Hummel," Blaine read from the page inside the envelope. "Five billion dollars…," he gave Jesse a skeptical look. "I don't have five billion dollars."

"Yes and no," Jesse said, arching his fingertips. "Sitting around in a bank account, no. If you liquidate all of your assets, just barely."

"That's ridiculous," Wes said.

"Of course it is," Jesse said. "It's a lose-lose-lose situation. Either you," he said, again, to Blaine, "Do it, and maybe get Kurt back, but lose everything you've lived and worked to maintain. Or you try to liquidate it, but your many underlings don't let you, so you fail, and lose Kurt and the loyalty of your cappos and probably your position. Or you refuse to do anything, lose Kurt, and know it's your fault."

"I know they say don't kill the messenger, but..." Blaine said, a threat and a serious one.

Jesse was unfazed. "You haven't heard my counterproposal."

"Which is?"

"We save Kurt."

There was a hovering silence over the table. Santana scoffed and crossed her arms. "Easier said than done, James."

"St. James," he corrected snidely.

"Whatever."

"Santana's right," Wes said, because he saw a bit of crazed hope and desperation in Blaine's eyes under the steely mask. Blaine wanted this, and he might not be able to have his sense there for discretion. "It's not like we haven't been trying."

"You didn't have an inside man before."

"And why should we trust you?" Wes demanded.

"Because I want something in return," Jesse said, calmly.

"What?" Blaine said darkly, "Money… yeah, I really trust you now."

"I want to work for you," Jesse said. "Consider this a hands-on interview process."

Blaine's gaze narrowed. "Why?"

For the first time, Jesse's confidant façade dropped. "There's a girl –"

"Who?"

"She's on stage right now."

Blaine glanced to see the woman singing. It was the good one… Rachel.

"I want to be with her, but I can't, because she works here, and you basically own this place. She had a weird sense of over the top loyalty to New Directions, and…"

"Clever story," Wes said, with an eye-rolling type of tone.

"I believe him," Blaine said. Santana, Wes, and even Puck all gave him skeptical, scolding eyes. "Any half-decent double-crosser would never come to be with a love story… what's your plan?"

"Do you except my conditions?" Jesse countered before giving away his plans.

"Even if you do this," Blaine started slowly, thinking of an answer that would satisfy everyone, Jesse, himself, and Wes with his scrutinizing gaze. "Save Kurt, I could never trust you fully, and I could never have you work for me at the capacity you for Sebastian, so I have a counterproposal of my own. I'll give you this."

"This?"

"This bar. It's my favorite watering hole, and Schuester's been running it into the ground. You'll have a good job where I can keep an eye on you, but you don't know my secrets. You'll be near your girl. And you'll be safe from Sebastian in my territory."

Jesse held out a hand. "Deal." The two shook on it.

"Tell me the plan."

And indeed a plan did Jesse have.

"That's interesting," Wes said, after it had all been laid out by Jesse St. James.

"That's one word for it," Santana added.

"It does seem like it's full of a lot of chances," Blain said.

"It is," Jesse said. "But it's the best chance you've got."

* * *

Another speedy update for you all. I have an outline for this story but the Kurt being kidnapped portion is not nearly as planned out as the rest of the story. I guess I just planned to wing it and now it is more complicated than I thought. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. A lot of reviewers seemed to like the interaction between Sebastian and Kurt, which I really do enjoy writing.

Anyway, I also have recently started a book appreciation blog. So, shameless self promotion…it can be found here: .com

Also, St. Berry over Finchel any day for me. Was that apparent? lol


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Kurt felt sick, returning from his dinner upstairs with Sebastian. Kurt hadn't eaten anything more, but Sebastian calmly finished his meal before escorting Kurt back to his room. Kurt ended up retching his barely eaten meal into the toilet about ten minutes later.

Now sick feeling, empty-stomached, and miserable, Kurt curled up in his bed. He wanted to cry, and cry was a weak word. He wanted to sob and tantrum-throw, but more than that, he wanted someone who would comfort him. His dad or Blaine or someone who cared if he was alive or dead. Someone who didn't hang his life on a 'probably.'

He didn't really sleep that night, but he wasn't awake either. He was half conscious and drifting. By the time morning came, only recognized by the breakfast brought down to him by one of the large, never-speaking guards. He was exhausted and yet sleep didn't seem enticing.

After the guard left, Kurt dragged himself out of bed to get his tray of food. His stomach was pinching in hunger. He started on the scrambled eggs, chewing mechanically, not really tasting, but eating because he needed to. When he picked up the biscuit, however, he was shocked out of his haze. There was a piece of paper on his tray— a small, tightly folded piece of paper under where his biscuit had been.

The biscuit rolled out Kurt's hand and he really didn't notice or care. He snatched the paper up quickly and unfolded it. It was a note. He hadn't read a word yet, but his hands were shaking. This was a change.

_Kurt,_

_ We are going to save you. We have an inside person, but I can't tell you more in case this is intercepted. Stay alive. Don't run. This will make sense. Don't run._

_ Destroy this once you are done reading. _

_ -Blaine_

Kurt's breath was caught in his throat. He held the piece of paper decorticated with the vaguely familiar handwriting of Blaine between his trembling fingertips and before he knew it he was blinking back tears. He curled in on himself, where he squat on the floor, and cried. For the first time since he had been in captivity, he just bawled, like he had ached to all the night before. He had kept strong, but was desperate and scared and hopeless, and now he wasn't hopeless. He wasn't forgotten. He had chance. Blaine was going to save him.

He cried until he couldn't, then he read the note two, three, a multitude of times, soaking in the meaning and the curves of the letters. He had it well memorized in his head with no effort beyond obsessed repetition by the time he managed to make himself stand. He tore the paper into pieces and flushed it down the toilet.

He was going to be saved.

…

Blaine was filled with a new fire. Wes saw it. Santana saw it. And most importantly, Blaine felt it. He had purpose now, with an inkling of hope and something he could actually do.

They met Jesse regularly at New Directions Tavern. It was a part of the ruse, for Jesse already attended the bar regularly to see Rachel perform. If anyone was tracking his moves, there was no noticeable change in his routine.

"Message delivered," Jesse said upon their first meeting after they original deal had been laid out.

"You sure?" Wes said. Blaine was so consumed in this, that Wes had to keep the skeptical eye out, for all their sakes.

"I saw it being carried into Kurt's room with my own two eyes," Jesse said, then to Blaine, "You have the next message written?"

Blaine pulled out two carefully folded pieces of paper from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. Jesse flipped them open and scanned the contents. Seemingly satisfied, he refolded the paper and said, "Well, it seems that we can now commence step two."

"Yeah, about step two, doesn't it seem a bit dangerous?" Wes said.

Blaine shot him a glare, questioning why he would not bring this up at the estate before. This was Kurt, after all, and this whole plan is inherently dangerous. But it was their best shot.

"We agreed that the Smythe property was impenetrable, yes?"

"Yes," Wes said, begrudgingly.

"And we agreed that to rescue Kurt, we needed Sebastian to take Kurt off the Smythe property, correct?"

"Yes," Wes said through clenched teeth. He really didn't care for this smarmy individual that was Jesse St. James.

"And that Sebastian couldn't know that he was being tricked into moving himself and Kurt off of Smythe property, for otherwise he would move to an even more impenetrable safe house?"

Wes nodded stiffly.

"Then this is the only way," Jesse concluded.

"I agree with Jesse," Blaine said. Jesse smirked.

Wes sighed heavily. "Of course you do." And that was the end of it.

…

There was an anxious energy tingling through Kurt's nerves. He was ready and waiting and for something to happen. And perhaps that made time stretch longer, that anticipation, even more than the monotony that had come before it.

The next meal came and Kurt was disappointed, after a quick search, to find there was no further note. It was a disappointment that singed at his heart and his hope a bit. But it was only one meal. Only a parcel of a day had passed with nothing. It was okay. He could wait. He had until this point.

It was sometime into the next day when something finally happened.

Kurt had just finished another meal without any message, beginning to dread if nothing would ever happen, that the words Blaine had sent were either a false way to pacify him or were not from Blaine at all. That perhaps they were a mind game being played with him.

Then there was a loud, piercing screech in a beeping pattern sounding through the air. Then another, and another, echoing and resounding off the walls, though slightly muffled where he was. Kurt stood suddenly from his bed, listening, confused, where those… fire alarms?

They were loud voices outside the door. Kurt rushes over to listen. Heavy feet on the steps. "Let the fucking kid out," someone shouts.

" Fuck that. I'm getting out of here."

"No," Kurt whispered to himself, and banged on the door with a fist. He doesn't want to die here. In a fire, which is rationless and harsh. He doesn't want to die ever.

There is a sound of stumbling down steps, perhaps someone pushed. "Get him out or Smythe will have your head!"

The door unlocked and Kurt's never felt more relieved. The door opened to reveal a bulky, rather ugly-faced man. "There's a fire. Every man for himself," he growled at Kurt, then sprinted up the steps, leaving Kurt behind. It took a few seconds for Kurt to move.

The air was fresh down in the basement, but as soon as he was on the second floor there was smoke crowding the air. He held his sleeved arm over his mouth and nose as a simplistic gas mask to breathe through. He didn't see or feel the heat of any fire yet, but he could smell it, and it could be around any corner, as could an exit.

He tried to retrace the steps he had taken when Sebastian had taken him to dinner. It was the only directions he really knew. He was on the ground floor. There had to be a way out somewhere.

The smoke grew thicker where he walked. Stinging his eyes and making them water. It was getting hotter. This wasn't the right way, was it? He was heading towards the fire? He could feel its warmth. There was a flash of flickering flame around the corner. He stumbled backwards a few steps, coughing.

Suddenly, there were hands on him and he went stiff instinctively. He couldn't see the person though. His vision was blurry and this person was behind him anyway.

"Don't run," a voice from this disembodied person whispered to him. "Don't run."

The hands twirled him around a certain amount of degrees – Kurt was too dizzy and disoriented to properly estimate – and pushed him in a new direction.

Kurt stumbled down this new hallway, and the air seemed to be clearing somewhat. He squinted to the smoke and saw a sunny outline of a door. He surged forward, and a few moments later he was outside, onto a porch, and then down a short set of steps, onto a front lawn. There was a load of people running about or just staring and gawking. A fire engine, sirens still howling, was just pulling up the driveway.

In all the hoopla, Kurt thought he might just be able to sneak away. He glances around the lawn. It was fenced in, but the fence was open where the fire truck had pulled up. But then words resounded in his head, 'Don't run.'

The ringing in his ears that he didn't realize until he was out of the house and away from the alarm was dying down and sounds began to make sense again.

Over it all, he heard Sebastian snarl – Kurt just realized now that he was standing two years behind his captor – "Where the fuck is Kurt?" He was snarling it to the ugly-faced guard who had left Kurt to his own devices.

"He ran off in the smoke," the man lied.

"Well, find him. And if he's trying to escape, shoot him."

'Don't run,' Kurt heard again in his head, and they made sense.

"I'm right here," Kurt said, loudly, boldly. He broke in a short coughing fit following.

Sebastian twirled around, surprised to see him.

"You didn't try to escape," he said, dumbfounded, and almost curious.

"Not after hearing that threat," Kurt said dryly around some shallow coughs.

Sebastian smirked, but not in a way that was so harsh. "Good move," he said, and moved the distance between them. He grabbed Kurt by the wrist and began tugging him along.

Partway through there trek across the lawn, another man joined them, a man that was tall-ish and lithe and who, when he spoke, was familiar, although Kurt was fairly sure he had never witnessed him before in his life.

"Their will have to be a full investigation, but early reports look like it was an accident," the unfamiliar/familiar man said.

"How could it?" Sebastian snapped.

"I beg your pardon, but perhaps your ailing grandfather didn't keep every as up-to-date as it should've been."

"Possibly," he agreed. The three of them stopped outside a black car.

"I called ahead to the penthouse," the unfamiliar/familiar man said. "Assuming that is where you want to go…?"

"Yes. Don't want it to look like I'm going into hiding," Sebastian said. "I'll leave you to head up here for now."

Sebastian tugged open the car door with much force and lightly shoved Kurt in.

"I'm going. I'm going," Kurt said.

A few minutes later they pulled away from the mansion with another, matching car tailing them purposefully.

They were silent during the drive, with Sebastian staring out the window, seemingly in thought, and alternately rubbing his forehead anxiously.

Kurt was silent too, but for a different reason. He was afraid he would give something away. See, as soon as he sat down, he felt something poke his leg. There was stick envelope in his pocket. One that wasn't there before.

* * *

Aki- So I was inspired to write everything but this story this week, but as the last few weeks I have been giving you two updates rather than my promised one, I am willing to forgive myself and you should forgive me too! Yup, totally.

Also, I think I am going to try and finish writing this story before October, because I want to get my NaNoWriMo on.

Also, that Glee episode. OMFG. Full thoughts are on my tumblr… .com. Also, my book lover's blog is .com


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Blaine was in his office when Sam came to visit. Well, visit was a light word. He was commanded to appear. It was only the second time Sam had been in his office. The first had been several years ago, when Blaine stared him down and then hired him to work in his garage. Blaine liked to scrutinize and choose his admittedly limited house staff carefully and personally.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine nodded and motioned his fingers for Sam to enter. "How's your new job going?"

"Good, good. I'm established, and the work will be starting soon."

"Tomorrow," Blaine said.

"Yes, tomorrow. First thing."

"Good. I don't think I need to impress upon you the importance your success."

"Mr. Anderson," Sam said, "I want Kurt back too."

Blaine's eyes narrowed. This is not what he brought Sam Evans in here for.

"He's my friend," Sam ploughed on, either uninterested or unnoticing a shift in his employer's mood. "And it… it _kills_ me that I let him get taken."

Blaine raised a hand to silence Sam. "You do your part, we get Kurt back, and you're absolved. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

…

The envelope felt like it was burning him, its presence tantalizing and forbidding at the same time. Kurt had thought maybe this was the rescue. That somewhere during the journey he'd be stopped and saved. Or that perhaps when they reached this "penthouse" his rescue would be waiting. At the same time, if there was a second note, how could that be the case?

Before they even entered the penthouse, the top floor of a five star hotel, Sebastian sent a squadron of his men up there first to search it and give an all clear.

"Welcome to your new prison," Sebastian said as he opened a door for Kurt as in a mockery of a gentleman. "It's not exactly a windowless room underground, but it is on top of a skyscraper, so I don't think you're going anywhere."

"Goody," Kurt said, monotone, as he walked into the full bedroom that was being provided for him. He wasn't going to risk being manhandled in when that could reveal what he had in his pocket… which he had not yet gotten to read himself.

Sebastian rubbed a hand over his forehead, something Kurt had seen him do a few times since the fire. Was it worry? Stress? A crack in what was his sleek veneer. "I guess I'll see you later."

The door slammed shut. Kurt stared at it for a moment, waiting for it to open again. A lock clicked. He was indeed alone.

Turning from the door, he yanked the envelope from his pocket and ripped it open. He pulled out two pages and read them. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Kurt had heard that expression a lot, but he never really knew quite how it felt until right then. The note, the words in them, the ultimate message, were no comfort this time.

And beyond the dread, Kurt was angry. He fisted the pages in his hand. How could Blaine ask this of him? Sure, he presumed that he would possibly play some part in his own rescue, but this part?

He couldn't do it. He couldn't. He tried to blink back some tears, but they fell anyway. He wiped them away swiftly. He wasn't going to cry. Not over this, and definitely not over Blaine.

…

Kurt had been napping when the door to his room was unlocked and Sebastian strolled in. Kurt barely sat up in bed before the man started talking.

"You know, a few days ago, I sent demands to Blaine Anderson in regards to your release," Sebastian said, oozing into the room in the way he did and peering at Kurt in a way Kurt wasn't sure he wanted to understand. Sebastian hurriedly added, "They were impossible demands, but he has yet to respond. It's not looking good for you."

"You're wrong," Kurt said, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

Sebastian's eye's flashed and Kurt felt strong for not flinching.

"You think he's going to rescue you?" said Sebastian, all mock. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the closed door. It was like he was settling in to watch a good show.

"Not about that," Kurt said, pitched quiet, for it was a hard thing to say aloud. "About him loving me. You said that the first day you had me captured. At least,… not like you think. Maybe like a pet."

"I saw –" Sebastian started, but Kurt cut him right off.

"You saw wrong! I've been there. I lived it." His voice cracked and his chest was heaving like he had just finished a run.

Sebastian's expression had shifted, a little less sure, but very intrigued.

"I'm just Blaine's pet and your pawn."

If Sebastian was to say something then, Kurt would never know, for at that moment he was called for in the hallway.

"We'll continue this later," Sebastian said, and he left the room like he half didn't want to.

Kurt buried his face in his hands, even though Sebastian wasn't there to see it.

…

"We didn't have a meeting planned tonight."

Blaine swirled his glass of scotch. "No, we didn't. But I needed a drink."

Jesse pulled out a chair and sat down. "And no Wes?"

Usually he would have glared at and/or have murdered someone who sat uninvited at his table.

"I needed away from Wes for a while."

"And your bodyguard? The hulking, Mohawk-ed fellow?" Jesse asked, sipping his own drink that he carried over with him.

"They've been micro-managing me lately. I needed to breathe."

"Yes, it must be so hard to breathe in a giant mansion and grounds. That must be traded or a smokey bar."

"Did you have something important you wanted to tell me, or were you just going to jabber on?" Blaine said.

Jesse's lips tweaked in a fleeting grin. "I was just here for the show."

Blaine glanced at the stage. That Rachel girl was singing. "How much do you love her?" Blaine found himself asking.

"How much do you love Kurt?"

Blaine didn't answer, because was there ever a way to quantify it?

"Same," Jesse said.

"Wes doesn't trust you," Blaine said, louder.

"I know," Jess said, finished off his drink, "It actually makes me feel better."

Blaine raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I'm serious," Jesse responded. "If every one of you trusted me, I think I would be worried you were going to double cross me, yeah?"

"I don't play like that," Blaine said.

"I would say 'neither do I' but I'm in the middle of double crossing Sebastian."

Blaine snorted. Then, morosely, "I wish I could do more than sit at home and wait for everything to play out."

"You can't get anywhere near Sebastian. Kurt would be in the most danger then. I think Sebastian would love to kill Kurt in front of you… but Sebastian likes Kurt in his weird, twisted way… likes having this power, and he wants to drag it out. He'll keep Kurt alive until he feels his hand is forced."

"Now we're the ones forcing it," Blaine said.

"But we're in control of the circumstances. It's up to Kurt now."

"Yeah," Blaine said. He held the remains of his drink into the air as if in cheers. "It's up to Kurt."

…

The night air was frosty crisp, harsh and refreshing in the same breath. If it had rained any days recent, there would have been ice slicking the ground probably, an early taste of winter in autumn, but luckily it was dry. Lucky for Blaine, for there were no hidden tricks to unsettle his wobbling steps. He blinked up at the sight of his house, the lights still on in many rooms, little blocks of it blinking out the windows, vivid in the blackness of midnight.

He was sure he had been a lot drunker when he left the bar, but that had been, what, an hour ago? He wasn't sure. Nor was he sure he cared.

He wandered up to the gate and typed in his personal code on a keypad to open it. It swung open automatically. Blaine waved up at a camera that he knew was trained on that spot. He cut across the lawn in the dark, the grass crunching under his feet. Upon reaching the front door, he fumbled with his keys and the lock. Before he could quite figure it out, it was opened for him.

Wes was glaring at his from the threshold. "Where've you been?" he demanded.

"Out," Blaine said coldly, pushing past his comrade and into the warmth and much too bright light of the house. His house, he reminded himself emphatically. No Wes'.

"You're drunk," Wes said.

"That was my intention," Blaine said. He collapsed into an armchair.

"You went alone."

"Also intentional."

"Fuck, Blaine, do you have a death wish?" Wes said.

"Fuck, Wes," Blaine repeated him, then, in a shout, "You're not my fucking father."

Wes put his hands on his hips – god, he couldn't be more parental-like in the moment – and said, "You're right. I'm not. Because I actually care about you on more than a business level. Guess who would be in line for your spot if you went off and got yourself assassinated. Me. So when I make sure you're not, that's not a fucking self-ish move."

It was if Wes had pressed a searing rod into a wound Blaine had hidden, even forgotten, but had never fully knit closed. His father, oh, his father. He had never given much personal interest in Blaine, not at first, other than raising him with all the things a rich child could be raised with. Blaine wasn't the first born, nor, as it would be revealed in his early teens, straight.

Cooper was the destined inheritor of the family business. Sure, Blaine would have his slice, but not comparable to Cooper's position. Best not to breed too much competition or competency for the role into Blaine, afterall. Coups from within were the most instable of all.

But then, well, Cooper was killed… murdered… and that left Blaine. There had been a sudden shift of responsibilities to his shoulders. But he wasn't Cooper, he was never Cooper, not to his father. He was the disappointing fill-in.

"Fuck you," Blaine said, but it was wavering, vulnerable, hardly with any venom.

"Fuck me is right, if it keeps you alive. I will stick the Warblers on your tail if I have to. Oh, and speaking of the Warblers, there was a reason I came over tonight. They figured something out… about Sue."

Blaine looked up at Wes blandly, not really caring. In his current state, Sue wasn't that important.

"Your father's cappos, the ones you replaced when your father died… the ones that all died mysteriously. Well, there deaths aren't that mysterious anymore. It was Sue. She ordered the hits."

"What?"

"You can take that as you will."

* * *

**Aki- **So, here is my next chapter. Fast update yay! And I already have the next chapter written. So, love me? Yeah, this kidnapping arch will go on a little longer, but hopefully you'll enjoy what I do with it.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Kurt jerked awake that night, or perhaps early morning. It was dark outside, or as dark as it could be for the city that never sleeps. Sebastian was there. Silent, watching, leaning against the dresser next to Kurt's bed. Kurt wonders if he felt the man's presence subconsciously, somehow, and that was how he was ripped from his dreams.

"Do you like watching people sleep," Kurt said. "Or just me?"

Sebastian titled his head, his eyes imploring. "Just you."

Kurt swallowed and shifted in on the bed, throwing his legs over the side, but not standing. "How much longer do I have on my sentence?" He was talking quietly, not a whisper, but quiet. There was no need for more than that in the dimness of the room and the press of silence around them. If he didn't know better, Kurt would think Sebastian and he were the only two humans in quite the radius.

"Sorry?"

"How much longer until you have me killed?" Kurt asked, impressively calm.

"I'm not sure yet," Sebastian said.

"So there's a chance," Kurt said, eyes downcast, speaking as if to himself. Then his eyes flickered up to Sebastian. "That you might not… because you don't have a fixed plan. And you haven't already."

"That I might not kill you?" Sebastian said.

Kurt just stared up at him wide-eyed.

"Why wouldn't I?" Sebastian said. "I took you to hurt Anderson, after all."

"But I thought we clarified," Kurt said, linking his arms over his stomach. "That he doesn't love me…not like that."

Sebastian tsked. "Are you suggesting you're useless? Because that doesn't bode well for your fate either. It's not like I'm just going to let you go."

"I know, but I think you can hurt Blaine in a different way. A way that keeps me alive."

"Really," Sebastian said sardonically, arching an eyebrow, the full amount of his skepticism cutting down on them.

Kurt unwound his arms and leaned back on the bed, arching his neck in such a way. "Can you not think of it?" Sebastian remained silent. Kurt stood, timidly even, and stepped forward, closing the space between their bodies. Sebastian just watched him, unmoving, waiting for Kurt's play. He stepped even closer. "You could keep me."

"And how would that hurt him more than the situation already stands?" Sebastian said. He had to know what Kurt was implying. He was being obtuse on purpose, daring Kurt to explain all of his meaning.

The room was lighter than before. Dawn must have been approaching.

Kurt stepped closer, reached out a hand to grab the lapel of Sebastian's robe. He pushed up on his toes and pressed his mouth to Sebastian's.

Sebastian shoved him back. Lightly, but shoved all the same. The back of Kurt's knees hit the bed, and he sat down on it as he stumbled back.

"You'd think I'd fall for that," Sebastian said. "I was expecting it for a while now. But I've got to hand it to you, it took more time than I thought it would."

"I'm serious here! Imagine what you could do to Blaine. Kill me, he doesn't care enough to hurt and you'll have to cover it up anyway. Can't probably brag about pulling one over on him. But if you keep me like… _like_ _that_. You can hurt him like that. His pride and reputation. Show me off to everyone. Get that satisfaction."

"You're really reaching," Sebastian said around the chuckle.

"I'll admit that this is completely self-serving. I really don't want to die."

It was lighter in the room still.

"And you'd trade yourself for your life?"

"I traded myself for my father's life, what makes you think I wouldn't do it for my own."

"Whatever, Kurt," Sebastian said, and he moved past him and yanked open the door.

"You like me," Kurt called after him. "In your own twisted way, you do. You wouldn't come talk to me so much if you didn't. You wouldn't've had dinner with me—"

Sebastian gave a glare over his shoulder. "That's enough." He slammed the door behind him.

…

"Hope your sober enough for this," Wes said, waltzing into the dining room where Blaine was stewing over his coffee. "You're up."

"Already?"

Wes gave a little head bob, as if to say, 'what you gonna do.'

"Set it up," Blaine said.

"We've rehearsed how to play this."

"I know," Blaine said.

"Well, I'm reminding you. You've been erratic lately, and this needs to be done right. Everything depends on this. Kurt depends on this."

"I know."

…

There was a hiatus of silence, of nothing. Kurt spent the dawn and the day watching what he could see of the city from his window. It was a nice view. Too bad it was tainted by the circumstances.

He heard the lock in the door click and then the door open and then feet, but he didn't turn from his seat by the window. He needed a little bit of his pride, and if ignoring Sebastian for just a bit was it, then it was it.

"Prove it," said Sebastian from behind him. Kurt didn't turn. He was stubborn after all.

Sebastian must have crossed the room, for Kurt felt Sebastian's press down upon his shoulders. Kurt titled his head to look up at Sebastian over him. "Seems Anderson wants to set up a video conference, you know, neutral ground and all that, to discuss… you, I guess, and whatever else is comprised in our conflict. So I want you to show him how much you want me and not him." He leaned down to talk directly in Kurt's ear. "I know you really don't want me that much, but play it up for the camera. Then we'll consider your proposition."

Kurt bit his lip and nodded.

"Good," Sebastian said. "We're on now."

He gripped Kurt's upper arm and pulled him from his seat and out of the room. He was dragged into the main room, which was bustling with activity. A few people were carefully setting up a laptop on a coffee table and muttering about connectivity and other such things. More well-dressed others, including the familiar/unfamiliar man, were conferring with each other in a huddle.

"You wait here," Sebastian said, stopping Kurt at the end of the couch presumably out of frame.

"We're ready to go in five, Mr. Smythe," one of the guys working on the laptop said.

"Good, then I need all of you to clear out except one computer guy, Jesse, and Kurt."

Sebastian settled in on the couch and everyone around him hushed or hustled out of the room. Kurt couldn't see the screen well from where he stood, but he could tell when the colors changed from a waiting screen to the video stream. Sebastian sneered when it happened to.

"Hello, Anderson," Sebastian said, cool and confidant. He was the one, after all, who was in control.

"Smythe," came the curt response. Kurt's fists gripped tight at the sound of Blaine's voice, fingernails pressing into palms. "Your demands were hilarious, I thought you should know."

"I thought you'd might've appreciate them," Sebastian responded. "I presume, though, you haven't met them."

"You know the answer." Blaine's voice sounded incredibly tight, and Kurt had been so preoccupied with himself, and sometimes worries for his dad, that he didn't think of the cold, unflappable Blaine as stressed and suffering in the way Kurt was.

"Good," Sebastian said. "Though the circumstances have changed since I sent them. I might not have sent Kurt back even if you had managed it."

"Is he still alive?" A wrong conclusion and a rough demand.

"Of course he is." Sebastian turned to Kurt then and waved him over. Kurt approached, a little stiffly, but ended up voluntarily sitting snug to Sebastian. This was his life, after all, that he was bartering for.

"Say hi, Kurt," Sebastian said.

Kurt looked at the computer screen, at the imagine of Blaine through the pixilation. "Hi, Blaine," Kurt said.

"I've grown fond of Kurt." Sebastian stroked the back of his fingers along Kurt's cheek, up to his temple, then dropped a finger around his ear and down his jaw.. Touching that was terribly and casually sensual. "And I believe that it's mutual."

It was a bit of an overstatement, but 'play it up' and 'prove it' rang in Kurt's head. "It is," Kurt said, but it was terribly mechanic. Sebastian shot him a quick, flashing look out of the corner of his eyes.

Kurt responded by cupping Sebastian's jaw and directing him in for a heavy kiss, open-mouthed and intense. Their first kiss had been brief, a brush of lips, Sebastian un-responding… this was different. Strong, and long, and showy for the camera. He pulled back and gasped for breathe. Sebastian's eyes were positively shining with a sort of madness and… victory?

Kurt looked at the screen. It was hard to read things perfectly over the image, but he could make out of the distinctive furrow of Blaine's brow.

"Kurt," Blaine voice came through the speaker, perhaps a waiver to it if it were not a computer blip, "If he's manipulating you into doing this—"

"I'm not," Sebastian cut across Blaine with glee. "He came onto me."

"I did," Kurt reaffirmed quickly. "I did." He leaned forward and pressed a lip to Sebastian's neck. Sebastian's hand curled tight around his waist. "And that's more than I ever did for you," he added on.

"Now go on, baby," Sebastian said, and god, baby? Kurt hoped that one was just for show. "Blaine and I still have to talk business." Sebastian unwound his arm from Kurt and lent him a hand as he stood.

Kurt walked off screen, as it were, but wasn't sure if he were supposed to stay or not. The familiar/unfamiliar man – Jesse – cut across the room and led Kurt down the hall to his accommodations.

Before Jesse closed the door of the room on Kurt, he said, "Good job."

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but before he could think of a thing to say or even what exactly this Jesse was saying, the door was snapped shut.

* * *

Aki- This chapter will either make you hate me or love me (some of you have been clamoring for Kurtbastian stuff). All I can say is just wait and see where it goes. (Seriously, don't kill me.) It will all make sense in due time (which is about two chapters unless I am greatly mistaken).


	22. Chapter 21

**TW: Violence**

**Chapter 21**

Maybe a half hour later, Sebastian found Kurt in his room. He wasn't beaming. Sebastian could never be described as beaming, but he definitely projected an aura of victory.

"You did wonderful, babe."

"Babe? Really? We're doing that?" Kurt snarked.

Unfazed, Sebastian asked, "What did Blaine call you?"

Kurt dwelled on it for a moment. "Just Kurt… if he called me anything at all."

"Well, just Kurt," Sebastian said, leaning down a little to be face level with Kurt. "You might not have believed that he loved you, but even though the web cam I'm pretty sure I saw you tromp on his heart." Kurt opened his mouth to protest. "Or his pride, whatever."

He carded a hand through Kurt's hair, Kurt stiffening and looking away at the action. Twisting his fingers into the locks at the nape of Kurt's neck, Sebastian tugged to force Kurt to look up at him.

"You don't regret this, do you?" Sebastian asked.

"No. Of course not. Blaine's the one that got me into this mess."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "I'm part of that mess, you know."

"I know," Kurt said. "But you're also untangling it."

Sebastian released Kurt's hair and let his hand settled on the side of Kurt's neck, thumb stretching to reach his collar bone. "What a bright outlook on life."

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. "I know it's not perfect. I'm not deluded enough to think this is perfect, or romantic. And some people might not see the difference here between the arrangement I had with Blaine and the one I have with you… but this time I got to make the offer this time."

"Hmm." Sebastian dropped his hand again – his eyes as well – and picked at Kurt's shirt. "You've worn the same clothes since I got you."

Got you. What words they were, but Kurt felt they were eerily accurate. He was, after all, a parcel being passed around.

"Yeah…," Kurt said, looking down at the clothes he was disappointed to still be wearing. They were relatively nice once, but now, despite any care, they had food stains, and stank of body, and were terribly wrinkled. "I've been showering regularly, but they're still getting pretty gross."

"I'll get some new things for you delivered right away."

"Oh."

"Oh what?" Sebastian asked.

"Just…" Kurt dropped his eyes again then flickered them back up. "I figured you'd be more interested in getting me out of my clothes than getting me new ones."

Sebastian took both of Kurt's shoulders in either hand and leveled a gaze on him.

"Here's the thing, Kurt. I'm not a nice person. I'm not a good person," he said. "But I don't want to have sex with you because you feel obligated. If I had, I could've done that ages ago... but it's not because I'm in anyway…," he fluttered a hand around in the air, "morally constrained on the issue. Do you know why it is?"

Kurt shook his head 'no.' It's what Sebastian was baiting him for anyway, a piece to play up his own speech.

"It's because I'm competitive," he said. He ran a thumb across Kurt's bottom lip. "When it gets to that – sex – it's going to be because you _want_ _it_. Because that is one thing that Blaine Anderson never had."

Kurt believed him. Believed when he said that he wouldn't force or coerce Kurt into sex, but not in the way a lover wouldn't do such things. In the way a madman would find success in doing such things. It was still a relief.

"You think you're good enough to make me want you," Kurt said, a dare, and something he thought Sebastian wanted hear. He had just admitted he was competitive. Kurt would present him with a challenge. He didn't honestly believe he was assured anything of Sebastian's favor yet.

It was the right move, for Sebastian's eyes seemed to light up, even if somewhat frightening.

"You feisty bitch," Sebastian said, amused. He fisted his hand in Kurt's shirt and tugged him forward, into his body. "You can bet on it."

…

He was digging his thumbs into his temples, head down, eyes closed. It was only contributing to his headache.

"Blaine… are you okay?"

Blaine shot Wes a vicious glare.

"Just leave me alone."

"Fine," Wes said, stepping back. "But I'm sending up Mrs. Hudson with soup. Don't bite her head off."

…

Kurt got a dresser of new clothes. The door of his room was now being left unlocked. Though it meant little in way of freedom for how many guards Sebastian had prowling around on a regular basis.

Sebastian was on a high of besting Blaine.

They started sharing meals together, at Sebastian's bequest. During which, they both ate, Sebastian mostly talked, and Kurt mostly responded with the things he thought were the mostly likely wanted to be heard.

It wasn't horrible. It was a lot less than horrible. In fact, judging by the standards of a week ago, when he was still locked in basement without a glimpse of sunlight or hope, this was downright stellar, especially when he forgot the surrounding situation that had placed him here. It was hard to forget, but he got pushed back sometimes, behind the more pleasant present.

At dinner one night, was it… three days after the agreement between Sebastian and Kurt had been made did Kurt really start a conversation than be dictated by Sebastian's turn-of-phrasing.

"Do you ever feel, like, cramped up here?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "No. It's a big place."

"Oh, right." He twirled his fork between his fingers. "Don't get me wrong, this is way better than that basement of yours." He nudged Sebastian's foot with his own under the table. "But, I don't know; there's just something about being in the same place for a while that makes it seem smaller. Do you ever feel that way?"

"Not if I'm where I need or want to be…," he set down his fork. "What's this all about?"

"Nothing… forget about it."

"Kurt."

"I was just thinking, you know, about seeing the same walls of my bedroom everyday and how tiring that is… and how there are other walls in the penthouse I haven't seen, like… you know," Kurt said. "Your room here." He lowered his head and peered at Sebastian through half-lidded eyes.

His meaning was completely understood, if Sebastian's pleased expression was anything to go by. Sebastian crossed the dining room and pulled Kurt from his seat. He rushed him down the hall. Kurt couldn't suppress a laugh at it all, the ever assured, cocky even, man, seeming as anxious as a teenager… to be with him. If there was a note of nerves, a note of unsure, in that laughter, well, Kurt was blessed he wasn't called out for it.

"This is it," Sebastian said, opening the door at the end of the hall and ushering Kurt inside. It was a grand bedroom, the style sleek and modern, a touch above the rest of the penthouse, even though the rest of the penthouse was decorated expensively.

"It's nice," Kurt said. "The bed looks comfortable."

Sebastian stood flush up against Kurt's back, and Kurt could feel the warmth and shape of the other man's body. "It is. Why don't you go test it out?"

Kurt crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He bounced twice.

"That's not testing it," Sebastian said. "Lay down."

Kurt removed his shoes and then pushed up on the bed, laying down flat, head on a pillow. "It's a very good mattress. I could sleep right now."

The bed shifted as a weight of another body was added to it. "Don't you dare," Sebastian hissed hot into his ear, nipping at the lobe.

It got heavy fast, with Sebastian rolling on top of his, skirting his hands everywhere. He started to remove Kurt's jacket, Kurt arching up on the bed to give him the space to pull it down. He paused, though, hand bunched around one of the sides.

"What's this?" he said, pushing his hand into the inner pocket of the jacket.

"Nothing," Kurt said, too fast, and pulled his shoulder back away from Sebastian.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "What is it?" he said, sounding dangerous now. Kurt tried to block Sebastian's hand with his own, but Sebastian just shoved him away. He pulled out a fairly crumpled, refolded piece of paper.

Sebastian sat back on the bed and Kurt curled his knees up, away from the other man. Sebastian's eyes scanned the page, and as he did, his face grew darker and angrier.

"It was all a scheme," Sebastian spit out. "All a fucking ruse."

Kurt scrambled off the bed, but it just put his back to the wall. The door was on the opposite side of the room. Sebastian followed him. He grabbed Kurt by either arm and slammed him back into the wall. Kurt's head snapped against the wall with a crack. He winced in pain.

"You think you could get away with it? That I wasn't watching you for a crack? But you… this little plan with Anderson all along… to seduce me? To make me fall for you so you could trip me up." He banged Kurt against the wall again.

"I –" he gasped out, but he had nothing he could say. Sebastian raised a hand and backhanded him hard across the face. If Sebastian still didn't have a grip on him, holding him up, Kurt would've been on the ground. Sebastian yanked Kurt back upright by his hair, a few prickles of tears in his eyes, from shock and pain and fear.

Sebastian leaned in and hissed viciously into Kurt's ear, "Are you really that much of Anderson's _whore_ that you would sleep with me on his command… for his plan? No wonder he misses having you. He could slut you out for favors."

"It's not –" Kurt started, his voice scratchy and barely there.

"It's not like that," Sebastian mocked in a rough and condescending version of Kurt's voice. "No, Kurt, it very clearly is _like _that."

Kurt stared up at Sebastian with wide, anxious eyes, his own hand up and cupping the cheek Sebastian had stuck.

"Wait," Sebastian said, more to himself, hand curling unconsciously tighter in Kurt's hair. "You had to get that message from someone. One of my people is helping Anderson… Who is it?"

"I don't – I don't know," Kurt said.

"Who is it?" Sebastian growled, in a proper rage now, and he threw Kurt across the room, making Kurt stumbled fiercely over his own feet. His ankle twisted under him as his side collided with the corner of the table. He ended up sprawled on the carpet.

He must have felt, inherently, Sebastian approaching, so he turned over on the floor to look up at him. "I was never given a name."

Sebastian crouched down next to him. "Better think fast," Sebastian said, tightly gripping Kurt's jaw.

"There was a… a code name in an earlier letter," Kurt managed to say even through the hold on his jaw.

"Go on."

"It was… the… the saint."

Sebastian's brow furrowed. "Jesse."

There was a knock on the door and a voice calling through. "Is everything alright, Mr. Smythe? We heard a lot of yelling and banging."

Sebastian released Kurt and crossed over to the door. Kurt took this moment to climb to his feet with great assistants of the wall. He couldn't put weight on one foot due to his hurt ankle.

Sebastian yanked open the door to the hulking bodyguards on the other side. "Find St. James and subdue him. Use force, but keep him alive." Like good, brainwashed thugs, they instantly agreed and went off to do _Mr. Smythe's _bidding.

He came back over to Kurt, who was hopping useless on one leg. He scratched his nails down Kurt's face, any harder it would have hurt, but right now, just a skim, like a promise of something worse. "I would've kept you," Sebastian said.

"What're you going to do to me?"

Sebastian let out a scoff of laughter. "Before, it would have been quick and painless, because it wasn't about you. But now it's _all_ about you."

One the guards from earlier returned. "We have St. James, sir. He was already on premises. Would you like us to bring him here?"

"No, I'll come out there. Do you have restraints for this one?" Sebastian jerked his head in Kurt's direction. It seemed the guard did, because next thing, Sebastian was pushing Kurt's front into the wall, jerking his arms behind his back, and tightening a plastic zip tie around his wrists. Once done, Sebastian physically turned Kurt towards the door and gave him a push. Due to his bad ankle, Kurt ended up falling on his knees.

"Christ, really?" Sebastian said. He grabbed Kurt up the upper arm and pulled him back up. Sebastian kept a vice-like hold on Kurt, enough support so he could limp along, even if all he wanted to do was run away. Once in the living room – the room they had video-chatted with Blaine – he was shoved onto a couch.

Jesse was there too, held between two of the muscle-y guards, hands bond as well. He was struggling.

"What the hell is going on?" Jesse said.

"This is what's going on," Sebastian said, holding aloft the paper he found on Kurt.

Sebastian cleared his throat dramatically and started reading, "Kurt, you need to seduce Smythe. Do whatever's necessary… Get him comfortable enough to trick him into bringing you out of the penthouse…" Sebastian huffed. "And that's just the start of it."

"So, the kid's been fucking with you," Jesse said. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Someone had to deliver it!" Sebastian roared. "And he named you… the saint. That was your nickname in high school, wasn't it? When you were a show choir god. I know wasn't around then. I was still in Paris, but I had everything looked up about you and the other confidants of my grandfather before I moved back to here to take over the family business."

Jesse's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

"Well, that's an answer enough," Sebastian said. "And don't think for a second I don't remember that you're the one who suggested we come here after the fire. And also don't think when this note mentions getting Kurt out of the penthouse that you don't know that my favorite restaurant is the one in this very hotel… I know where Anderson's men are stationed for a surprise attack."

To the entire gawking, gathered group, he said, "We're going to move out, to the safe house, today. No point letting Anderson's people figure out something's wrong when St. James doesn't show up to some meeting."

He started delegating out tasks. To have someone call the people by the cars to get ready. For someone to inform the hotel manager to clear out the lobby and the garage and not let anyone leave the restaurant – even staff— and they better fucking do it, because it is _Sebastian Smyth _asking.

He sends out a handful of guards first to give an all clear and then a few minutes later the rest of them – a number of other men with guns – as well as Sebastian, Jesse, and Kurt, evacuated. Not long later, the whole of them where piled into a series of three black cars.

"Looks like an all clear, boss," mumbled the driver from the front, head ducked, some blonde hair poking out from under his hat, once they were out of the parking garage and out onto the open road.

"I won't breathe easy until we are at the safe house."

Kurt's wrists hurt were the plastic dug in, his back hurt for where it was arched awkwardly around his back bound arms, and his head hurt from being banged around earlier. His \ heart was skipping fast like a rabbit running, and he waited. Sebastian had Jesse in a different car, so he and Sebastian were alone except for the driver and the additional guard in the front seat. The two other cars – SUVs really – flanked them, driving ahead and behind.

A good half an hour passed, and they were making record time through the city, like the traffic had parted for them. Sebastian was silent, his face stony. He must have been consumed in thoughts, probably of revenge. Kurt was watching him warily, glancing every so often to check his surroundings. The guard in the passenger seat looked as if he had fallen asleep, body sagged in his seat.

They were in the outskirts of the city, through a more suburban area, then to a lightly wooded area. They turned onto a more remote, but still paved road.

"It was really stupid of you," Sebastian said. "To keep that note. You're not that stupid… perhaps you're sentimental, though…"

The SUV in front of them slowed considerably, and swerved off the road, coming to a halt when it ran into a tree – not hard enough to cause any real damage, but into a tree nonetheless.

"What the hell is going on?" Sebastian said, scooting forward in his seat to peer out the windshield. The car behind them followed suit.

"Do you want me to pull over, sir?" asked the driver.

"No, keep going," Sebastian said, and he seemed worried.

They couldn't keep going, for a just them, several cars emerged from the direction they were heading, and next, from behind them as well. The driver pressed on the brakes.

"Wha…?" Sebastian couldn't finish the question; couldn't finish the word. The other cars, now closed in on theirs, stopped. The doors began to open.

"You're right," Kurt said, as Sebastian tried to shake the sleeping guard awake – he was out, properly out. "I'm not stupid enough to keep the note."

Sebastian was seething with anxiety, but he was trying to absorb Kurt's meaning. "You wanted it to be found," Sebastian said, in a realization. "That was part of the play."

"I would _never_ sleep with you," Kurt said, a sense of appeasement in his chest.

* * *

**Aki** – So here is a longer chapter for you guys. Writing Kurt being roughed up was the worst thing ever. I never want to do that again. So, just to be clear here, the rescue has happened! There will be the Blaine/Kurt reunion next chapter as well as explanation of some of the aspects of the rescue plan that probably don't make any since yet (like two other cars just driving off the road).


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

It was a rush after that… a good rush. Freedom. He was taken out of the car and the plastic tie cut from his hands by someone he was not familiar with. There was a blur of activity around him. Sebastian's unconscious guards were being removed from their vehicles and being bound along the side of the road. That was not something Kurt understood. He had only given a piece of the plan… two notes were in that envelope. One, the decoy note Sebastian was supposed to find. Two, one Kurt destroyed after reading, explaining Kurt's part to fake seduce Sebastian and then, after a few days, let him find the decoy note. It hadn't made sense to Kurt, but he trusted Blaine, despite everything. His trust was rewarded, for here he was, rescued.

"Kurt!"

Kurt looked around for the source of the familiar voice calling over the rabble. He took a pathetic step on his bad ankle, – he didn't think it was broken, just badly sprained – winced, and decided to let the voice find him instead.

"Kurt." Again, nearer, to his diagonal left, Blaine pushing through the bustle of his own men.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, and surely Blaine couldn't have heard it. Kurt's heart started beating fast again, but in a distinctly different way than it had been with worry when Sebastian had been in his rage just over an hour ago.

Only that long ago? It was a different lifetime.

Then Blaine was there, jogging the last amount of space between them, wrapping his arms around Kurt in an embrace. An embrace Kurt had somehow anticipated and was fully cooperating in, if the way Kurt so automatically folded his own arms around Blaine's neck was any indication. Kurt was oh-so-slightly taller, something he had forgotten, or maybe just missed.

Blaine pulled back from the hug – Kurt unlinked his arms hesitantly – but kept a gently firm hold on Kurt's sides.

"Are you okay? I hate that you were in a position for _that scum_ to hurt you." He skimmed one of his hands over the side of Kurt's face. Maybe there was a bruise there, Kurt didn't know.

"I'm a little roughed up and it's hard to walk, but I've had worse," Kurt said.

Blaine raised an eyebrow.

"I had some bullies in high school who didn't like me very much."

"Give me the names and I'll have them taken care of."

Kurt chuckled, but he knew Blaine wasn't joking.

Blaine pulled Kurt in again, squeezing him tight. Kurt liked it. He liked feeling someone holding him up. He had to do it by himself all his time with Sebastian, keep it together, keep it going.

"I'm sorry you got hurt due to the plan," Blaine muttered into Kurt's neck.

"I'm sorry I had to kiss him due to the plan," Kurt whispered back.

Blaine snorted. "That must have been a real trial."

"You have no idea," Kurt said, "Good job acting devastated over the webcam, Sebastian really bought it."

"Well, I really did hate having to see it, even if I knew it was an act."

"Hey, Blaine," called Wes as he approached. Kurt could see him over Blaine's shoulder.

The two had to pull apart again, but, as before, Blaine didn't let go of Kurt. He kept an arm snuggly around Kurt's waist. Somewhat at like the party, but different still. Less possessive and showy, though there was still a little possession about it. Rather, it felt more casual and desperate, like Blaine couldn't stop touching Kurt, lest he disappeared.

Kurt didn't mind. The fact that it was a good support when one of his legs was fairly useless for it was the least of the reasons why.

"We got Jesse. He was in one of the gassed cars, but he'll be fine once he wakes up, except for a killer headache. We've got all of Sebastian's men secured… and, of course, Sebastian."

"Kill him," Blaine said coldly.

Kurt practically felt himself go pale. He grabbed Blaine's arm desperately to get his attention.

"Don't."

Blaine gave him a sharp, inquisitive look. "Why?"

Kurt licked his lips, and it stung and tasted like metal at one sliver. He had a split lip and he hadn't even realized it. "It's not like I have any sympathy for him, honest. And I know he would kill me or you without a care, but… I just don't want to be a part of a death. Even if I don't see it or hear it, but I know it happened, and I was involved."

"It's not like I'm suggesting you pull the trigger, Kurt," Blaine said.

"I know," Kurt said. Wes was watching their conversation carefully. "But I played a big part in getting him here. Tricking him here… that means I'm a part of it. And I don't… I don't think I can take it."

"Kurt," Blaine said, almost like a bargain. "I really want to kill him."

"I'm not saying you can't," Kurt said quickly. "Just not today. Not like this." He gulped, and then said, pleading, "Please."

"Fine," Blaine said. "But I'm still going to talk to him."

He called over Jeff to support Kurt as he went to see Sebastian, tied up on the side of the road.

"So we're not going to kill him?" Wes asked as they walked over together.

"Nope," Blaine said, not looking at his friend.

"Man, you're whipped."

They rounded a car, and Sebastian was there, on his ass in the dirt, hands handcuffed behind his back, glaring up at them.

Blaine crouched down in front of him. "Well, Smythe, today's you're lucky day. I'm not going to kill you. Kurt asked me not to, and I'm not going to. Guess that makes me a better person that you."

"A weaker person," Sebastian retorted.

"A better person," Blaine said, calm and confident, a grin on his face. "But this is a one day thing. I won't kill you today. But you're on my list." Blaine stood and looked down at the man. "I'll just leave you here like this to find your own way home."

It would be hard. Blaine's men had already slashed the tires of the three vehicles and taken the cell phones out of the unconscious guards pockets and smashed them under heal.

Sebastian spit at him. It wasn't very affective, but rude, nonetheless.

"I didn't say you couldn't punch him," Kurt called. Blaine looked over shoulder to see the boy, leaned heavily on Jeff, over the hood of the car, watching the scene play out.

"My pleasure," Blaine said, glaring down at Sebastian. He curled a tight fist and walloped him, as hard as he could, across Sebastian's smug face. It knocked Sebastian backwards onto the ground, like a cockroach on its back.

Blaine made his way back to Kurt and took his place by his side from Jeff.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."

"To home," Kurt said. Blaine smiled at him, dazed even. Kurt realized what he said. He didn't correct himself.

…

"I can't believe you left him alive," Jesse moaned from where he was dramatically splayed across a couch in Anderson's main living room. He was holding a bag of ice to his head. "That's bad news bears for me."

"I'll give you a protective detail," Blaine said dryly.

Jesse made a face. "That might turn Rachel off… or on."

"Sebastian will probably be more revenge-thirsting than ever, but Blaine pretty much just castrated him in a very dramatic manner."

"Nice imagery," Jesse said.

"Really, even if it was on a remote road, a move that big isn't going to be kept secret. It won't be official anywhere… on the news or in police reports, but I guarantee you, in five days, a week tops, everyone in the city is going to be gossiping like bitches about it."

"Nice, Wes, nice," Blaine said. He peered at the staircase.

"God, Blaine, just go up there is you want. It's not like you're not allowed in the room the same time as the doctor in your own house," Jesse said with an eye roll.

"Maybe I will," Blaine said, standing from his armchair. Wes grabbed his arm as he started to cross the room.

"Blaine," he said, in almost a scolding way, "Don't…"

"God, Wes, I'm not going to take advantage of him right after a rescue."

"Why not?" Jesse said from his spot. Wes and Blaine both glared at him. "Not the take advantage part. But reunion sex? Sounds hot."

"Oh my god," Blaine said. "I'm leaving." He went upstairs and turned down the hall towards Kurt's room. Just as he reached the door, the doctor stepped out of the room.

"He'll be fine. He's very lucky. Everything was just not as bad as it could have been. His ankle isn't broken. He didn't get a concussion from hitting his head. He'll be sore and bruised for a while, but he'll heal up fine in no time," the doctor said without prompting.

Blaine nodded to the woman, and passed her into Kurt's room. That was what he came up here after all. He's why he was doing everything lately.

Kurt was lying flat back on his bed, eyes shut. He opened them a crack as he heard Blaine approach, and followed him as he crossed the room. Blaine kneeled on the edge of Kurt's bed right next to him.

"How're you feeling?" Blaine asked.

"The doctor didn't bring any of the good drugs," Kurt said.

The corner of Blaine's mouth turned up. "Want me to get you vicodin or morphine or something? I could."

Kurt laughed lightly. "No, I'll deal. My head aches like hell, though."

Blaine didn't plan it, but he did it, compulsively. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Kurt's forehead, just under the hairline, like to make it better. "What else hurts?"

"My ankle," Kurt said, and watched carefully as Blaine moved to the end of the bed. He glided his hands down Kurt's calf as he gentled lifted Kurt's to kiss the front of his ankle. It was wrapped for strength, so Kurt felt only the heat of Blaine's lips.

"Where else?"

"Right here," Kurt said, brushing a hand against his side. Blaine moved up the bed, slowly pushed up Kurt's shirt and kissed the bruise there.

Kurt gulped. Blaine looked at him imploringly, asking him with his eyes to continue.

"My, um, wrists." He had marks from where his hands had been bound.

Blaine lifted both of Kurt's arms and kissed the sensitive undersides of his wrists, right where the veins were at the most visible under his skin.

"My cheek," Kurt said, this time without the nearest level of hesitance. Blaine kissed him on the cheek Sebastian had slapped him. He didn't have a bruise, but the skin was still pink from the hit.

Right there, Blaine hovering over him right there, his face still low, Kurt surged upward and captured Blaine's lips with his own.

Blaine was taken back for a moment, a completely Kurt instigated kiss was not only new but something of Blaine's dreams. When he moved his lips against Kurt's it was carefully, slow and soft. He didn't want to scare Kurt away.

Kurt wasn't going for it, _slow and soft_. For that moment Blaine opened his lips in his movement against Kurt's, Kurt slipped his tongue daringly into Blaine's mouth. Blaine absolutely groaned. He slipped a hand behind Kurt's neck to help support his head. He pressed in more urgently, teasing his tongue against Kurt's. He climbed fully on the bed.

They came apart, panting. Kurt tugged at Blaine's collar, trying to bring him back in.

"Please," he said through heavy breathing. He leaned up and nipped at Blaine's bottom lip lightly. Blaine pulled further away from him.

"Kurt, listen," Blaine said. "I don't want you to do something you don't want to do because you think you owe me."

"I never do anything I don't want to do," Kurt said surely.

"I made you do things you didn't want to do," Blaine said, his voice quiet and remorseful.

"I made my choice."

"I had you backed into a corner –"

"Can we debate ethics later?" Kurt said, cutting Blaine off. "Right now, will you just kiss me some more?"

* * *

The reviews from the previous chapter made me blush. You guys!

If it's not clear in this chapter, there were actually two notes/pages in Kurt's envelope – it does say he pulled out two pages in the actual narrative. One was a "decoy page" that Sebastian was supposed to find. The other was the real plan, which involved seduction but also letting Sebastian find that page.

Some of the clues that there were two notes/a double crossing plan – when Blaine passes the two message over to Jesse in the bar, there are two pieces of paper, and Kurt pulls to pieces of paper from the envelope later…but Sebastian only finds one. Kurt saying there was a codename in a previous letter of 'the saint' when in the only previous letter he received we got to see in full and it did not name Jesse in any way shape or form. Jesse telling Blaine that Sebastian liked Kurt in a twisted way. Kurt using that same wording to try and seduce Sebastian… implying it was used in the message.

More of the ideology behind the plan as well as technicalities will be explained more next chapter. I didn't want a big plot of exposition and in the written word you can't have a montage (a la Ocean's Eleven) that explains the heist, so I am trying to work it in in pieces so it's natural.


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Blaine laid cuddled up next to Kurt after a long, slow make out session. God, Kurt could _kiss_ when he was actually interested in kissing.

"Were you mad at me," Blaine said, staring at the ceiling. "When you got the second part of the plan?"

"Pissed," Kurt said. "And a little betrayed… you basically had me set it up so Sebastian was guaranteed to get angry at me… and hurt me."

"It was the only way… I know that might sound ridiculous, but Jesse must be a secret psychologist or something. He was playing head games with Sebastian the home time… we had to let him think he was in control. That was the only way to force his hand without him killing you."

"It's interesting that not getting him to kill me involved getting him _wanting _to kill me."

"It's a bit backwards, I admit, but it worked," Blaine said. He kissed Kurt on the cheek.

Kurt hmmed and blinked lethargically. It had been a long day. "So, the fire… that was you guys…"

"Even with Jesse, we couldn't touch you in Smythe's estate. He had to move you out of there… and we planted Sam with a job at the garage at the hotel… he rigged the two SUV's with remote controlled knock out gas in the AC system. Then we just had to get Sebastian to take you out of there before he got any better ideas of what to do with you…"

Kurt hmmed again, his eyes remaining shut now, head lolled against Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine shifted to get a better look at Kurt's form. He used the hand not trapped under Kurt's weight to trace his fingers down neck. He stopped at the collar of his shirt, and then pressed his palm to the flat of Kurt's chest where he could feel his heart beat.

"I love you," Blaine said.

Kurt's eyes flickered open quickly. "I'm not asleep yet," Kurt said, his eyes wide, voice frantic.

Blaine hadn't been expecting that.

"I love you," Blaine repeated, without a stutter or pause.

Kurt exhaled, and it was quite noticeable. "Oh," Kurt said, and sat up. Blaine did to. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Wasn't expecting that I could love, or that I could love you?" Blaine asked.

Kurt racked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Both?"

Blaine laid a hand on the side of Kurt's jaw, and Kurt unconsciously titled his head into it.

"I can understand not thinking I can love. I deserve that. It's the reputation I earned through my very own actions. But you deserve to think that you can be loved."

Kurt gulped. "I think that nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Blaine leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Kurt's. They were too close to each other to be focused on properly, so both sets of their eyes were downcast. They were close, though, that way, their breaths intermingling in a way that was surprisingly intimate.

"You deserve a lot better than love from a man like me."

"You're not that bad," Kurt whispered.

"Yes, I am, Kurt. I really am."

"… Sebastian kept saying that he could tell that you loved me. I didn't believe him," Kurt said.

"Do you believe me?" Blaine asked.

Quiet, then a confident, "Yes."

Blaine moved to tilt their heads closer, their noses brushing.

"I don't know what to say," Kurt said.

"You don't need to say anything. I wasn't expecting you to hear it. I never planned to tell you… I knew you couldn't – not back. Not after what I did to you."

"Blaine?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really confused."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"…No. After everything I've been through these last weeks, I don't want to be alone."

…

Blaine awoke in the morning in Kurt's room.. Kurt had his head pillowed on Blaine's chest. He was curled up carefully on his side. Blaine imagined sleeping when sore is so many different places wasn't the most relaxing.

Blaine went to gently shift out from under Kurt, but as soon as he tried it, Kurt's hand fisted in his shirt. When Blaine attempted to unwind the hand, Kurt, eyes still screwed shut, muttered, "No… this is the most comfortable position I found all night."

Blaine settled back again his pillow and danced a hand through Kurt's hair. In reaction, Kurt had a little pleased sound in the back of his throat. Five minutes, ten minutes, maybe more passed, but Blaine was content to lie there if it was something pleasing to the young man sharing the bed with him.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, after that passing of time.

"Yes, Kurt?"

"You could've just asked me out… you know, instead of manipulating me into your bed." It could have been accusatory, but it wasn't.

"I knew you were out of my league," Blaine said.

"No way."

"Yes way."

Kurt nuzzled lightly into Blaine's chest where he lay.

"Blaine?"

"Yes, Kurt?"

"I, uh, _care_ about you too."

Blaine wanted to believe it. And he did believe Kurt wasn't lying to appease or please him. That the boy meant it. But Blaine knew he didn't deserve it.

…

They eventually made it down to a late breakfast where Mrs. Hudson fawned over Kurt quite a bit. After Kurt ate several platefuls – "I'm not worrying about the calories today" – he got a serious look on his face.

"Is my father still alive?"

Blaine's brow furrowed. "Of course." He didn't tag on 'I promised you that.'

"Oh, good." He clutched at his chest. "I thought maybe it was bad news… because you didn't mention him. That maybe it… went wrong while I was away."

"Actually," announced a feminine voice from behind them. Santana was standing jauntily in the doorway. "It's gone a lot better than either of you know."

"Santana!" Kurt said, twisted around in his seat to beam at her. If he was more able at the moment, he would have gotten to his feet to greet her.

"Aw, look, he missed me," Santana said, her regular smirk in place. "Glad to know someone appreciates me in this house." Blaine rolled his eyes.

Santana slide into a seat in the middle of the table and helped herself to a mug of coffee. "Anyway, on to the good news… see, I sort of commandeered the Burt Hummel situation while you, Blaine-dear, were pre-occupied with Kurt's rescue."

She directed the next sentence to Kurt, "Not that it was too hard. Blaine had already scared the Head of Medicine shitless, but I have to say that I am pretty damn scary too."

"I'm pretty sure Kurt is more concerned with the health of his father than your admittingly fierce attitude," Blaine said.

"Well, if you don't like build up…" She grabbed Kurt's hand from across the table and said tenderly, genuinely, "You're father is just fine. They found a heart for him, and he actually went into surgery the day before your rescue. I _may_ have illegally assumed power of attorney over him in your absence. He came out of it just fine."

Kurt seemed to choke over his own breathing. "That's – that's…" His eyes went between Blaine and Santana. "Thank you." Something else kicked into him. "Oh my god, I need to go see him."

"Calm down, champ," Santana said. "He's mostly been sleeping anyway, due to, y'know, surgery and medication."

"No, but _I _need to."

"Later," Blaine said, commanding, from his end of the table.

"What do you mean, later?" Kurt said.

"If you think after what just happened, I'm letting you out of the house without an entire army of protection, you're crazy."

"This is my father, Blaine," Kurt said, glaring across the table. "He's the reason this whole thing started."

"I know. But I think you can manage to wait a couple of hours until things are arranged."

"If it helps," Santana said, interrupting herself in what was looking like, to her anyway, a lover's quarrel. "One of the things I also did was set up tighter, rough-the-clock security for Mr. Hummel's room, specifically, and his entire floor."

"Thank you, Santana," Blaine said, "But we're not playing games with Sebastian Smyth anymore. He's a real threat now, castrated or not."

Santana then said, "Wait, what?"

…

"Maybe I should…"

"No," Santana said, snapping at Blaine for the fourth time that hour. "You're not going to the hospital with Kurt. You're already sending Sam, Puck, the Warblers, not to mention all the security I already have set up there. If anything, you would make Kurt less safe by being there as you would present more of a target. Let him see his father in peace."

Blaine hrumped and ran a hand through his hair in an act of anxiousness and petulance. "Forgive me for being worried," he said, laced with sarcasm, "the last time he went to the hospital, he didn't come back."

Santana's face softened. "Look, Blaine, I get it, but ease up. You can't keep him holed up here just to keep him safe. Well, I suppose you could, but he'd resent you for it."

"Fine. I need to make some phone calls anyway."

"Have fun distracting yourself while Kurt's gone."

"Santana, out."

* * *

I keep forgetting to tell you that I have been writing another Klaine fic that is Post-The Break Up, but I am putting it up on AO3 (which is archive of our ) because I like there series feature. My username over there is ungoodpirate.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"Why are you calling me?" That was the first thing Sue said when she answered the phone.

"It's Blaine," Blaine said grimly. So far, this was off to the start he had expected.

"I know, short Anderson. I have caller ID."

Blaine gritted his teeth and then continued with a calm he impressed himself with. "So, you killed them."

"You're going to have to be more specific there," Sue said.

"My father's cappos. The ones other than you. The ones I deposed. That specific enough?"

Blaine pressed the phone tighter to his ear as nothing but subtle static came through.

"I did," Sue said, and there was nothing flashy about the way she said it, just simple statement of a fact, none of her flash. "And, as we discussed before, it would be better if you let everyone else assume it was your doing."

"You –"

"And your welcome for me not letting the city fall apart while you were distracted rescuing your boyfriend."

Blaine was left with an ear full of dial tone.

Part of him wanted to call back, or go to her place of residence, and demand further explanations… but another part of him got it. Maybe for the first time he was sure, he made the right call with Sue.

…

While Kurt was only stressed over the want to see his father and what he would say to him when he did, everyone else traveling with him seemed much more concerned and stressed over his safety. One of them was on his cell phone talking with whoever was stationed at the hospital. Two of the others were engaged in a whispered conversation. Puck was silent and looming on the seat next to Kurt. The only person Kurt was familiar enough to have been able to talk to was Sam, far away from him in the driver's seat.

When they arrived at the hospital, Sam stayed with the car to be able to stop anyone from booby trapping it. Also, so he could drop and pick up the crew closest to the hospital entrance so they weren't vulnerably walking across a gap of the parking lot. Jeff explained this to Kurt.

They signed in at the visitor's desk. Then it was down the hall and up the elevator. When they reached the right floor, they were greeted by two of the security members that Santana had stationed there.

"Can we hurry up?" Kurt snapped, for everyone was so precaution driven – meaning moving like slugs and talking a lot – that Kurt wasn't getting to his father. He got a few looks. Kurt rolled his eyes and started down the hall towards his father's room. It got the desired effect; they followed.

At the room, a heavyset woman was standing outside, glowering, arms crossed.

"Lauren," Puck greeted as they approached.

"Puckerman," she replied almost smirking.

Although they had only shared two words, Kurt got the distinct impression that they were flirting, and even more of an impression that they would probably work out.

"May I…" Kurt said, gesturing toward the room. Lauren – Kurt now remembered her vaguely from the party – threw a thumb over her shoulder as a gesture of 'go in.'

His dad looked asleep, which was so similar to seeing him in a coma. He took a seat by his dad's bed, reached out a gripped his hand. Dad shifted in his sleep at the contact, and that relieved Kurt, seeing it as indeed sleep, and not a coma. He waited.

Eventually, Burt's eyes blinked open. He must have felt his hand being held, for the first thing he did was look over to find out who it was.

"Kurt?" he said with a scratchy voice.

"Hey, Dad," Kurt said, voice wavering, with a small grin.

"I feel like I haven't seen you for forever."

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry. Unbelievably sorry."

Burt shifted on his pillows so he could peg Kurt with a stern, fatherly stare. "One way to apologize would be to finally tell me how you've been paying for all this."

"I – It's a long story." Kurt was still a bit embarrassed to talk about it. It involved sex, after all.

"I was giving you a chance to come clean, Kurt. I'm not stupid. I asked the nurses, back before I went into the second coma… I asked them about the bills and one of them looked it up for me. Turns out I'm being paid for by the personal account of a Blaine Anderson."

Kurt cleared his throat in an act of self-consciousness. "That would be correct."

"See, I thought long about what you could be doing for him to get that kind of money, and short of there being an occasion of you saving his life, which I don't think you'd be trying so hard to hide from me, I didn't like the ideas I was coming up with," said Burt

Kurt grimaced, because his father _knew,_ then said, "The ideas you've had in your head are probably somewhat accurate, but it's more complicated than that."

"Kurt," Burt said, in his concerned father voice, and Kurt was sure he was either going to get a lecture or some apology.

Kurt grabbed his father's forearm with his free hand to stop him. "Dad, please, don't. I don't regret it. Not for a second, and not just because it _saved_ you. It's not like you think. It may have started out that way… but then it never really was what I expected. Sometimes he just wanted someone to hold."

Burt's brow furrowed. "It's hard for me to think of _him_ as a guy like that."

"Trust me, I was surprised too," Kurt said. "You think he would be one way, but he's not. He's really not."

"You look star struck, kid. Is it that…"

"He loves me," Kurt said, splattering it out as a confession. It only happened last night, but he had to tell someone.

"How do you know?" Burt asked critically.

"He told me," Kurt replied with a matter-of-fact shrug.

"That doesn't mean it's true."

"It's true."

"Do you…" Burt couldn't finish the question. Kurt understood him regardless.

"I don't know," Kurt said. "Am I allowed to not know?"

"I would think so. Life's full of a lot of not knowing."

Kurt nodded, looked to his knees, to where he held his father's hand, back up to his father.

"I've only ever wanted two things for you, son," Burt said, squeezing Kurt's fingers. "I want you happy and I want you safe. I haven't been able to do much for either of those things lately, sick and laid up in bed. So I have to trust you to do those things for yourself. I might not understand and I might not approve, but… you're smart enough to make good decisions. Smarter than I've ever been."

"Dad –," Kurt said, the beginning of a disagreement.

"Let me finish… You can't put yourself in an unwanted position for me again. I'm the parent; you're the kid. You can't always put what's best for more in front of what is best for you."

"What's best for you is what's best for me," Kurt insisted.

"That's very nice, Kurt, but you need to learn to put yourself first every once and a while."

…

When Kurt got back to the estate and couldn't find Blaine, Mrs. Hudson directed in the direction of the gym. Kurt had never gone to the in-house gym, but he vaguely remembered it from his tour with Santana, which now felt like many ages ago.

Indeed, Blaine was there, and dressed the most informal Kurt had seen him apart from when they shared a bed. He was in sneakers, mesh shorts, a ribbed white tank stained with sweat, and boxing gloves. He was pounding away at a punching bag, and even from the distance of the doorway, Kurt could see the flex and strain of his wiry muscles.

"Hey," Kurt called out.

Blaine dropped his arms as if they were heavy. "Kurt."

Kurt took a few steps into the room. "I didn't know you –," me motioned towards the punching bag.

"It's a big stress reliever."

"What're you stressed about?"

"You not being where I could see you were safe."

Kurt ducked his head and blushed. He looked up again. "Well, I'm here now."

"But you won't always be."

"I can't always be where you can see me."

"I know." Blaine sat down on a bench along the wall and started tugged off his gloves.

Kurt followed him and sat on the other end of the bench. There was over a foot of space between them.

"You're father's doing better," Blaine stated, still fiddling with his gloves.

"Yes," Kurt said. "I talked to his doctor while I was there. Apparently he is 'bouncing back beyond expectations', though I think that expectation was for him to die, honestly." But he wasn't dead. He was much, much better than dead, and it was why Kurt turn it over so lightly, almost a joke. It was a horrendous possibility that was avoided.

"I want to do this before he is out of the hospital," Blaine said.

"Do what?"

"Let you go." Blaine looked up at him.

Kurt jerked in Blaine's direction. "Excuse me?"

"I once was a guy who saw a beautiful young man singing at a club, and because I was so afraid of opening myself up to another person, that I decided to try and buy his body and his attention and maybe his affection. Now I'm a guy who fell in love with that beautiful young man –"

"Blaine…"

"And that means I can't force you to stay here, with me. Because that's not love. That's obsession. I'll keep paying for everything your father needs for his continued health, but you're free to go."

Blaine looked like he had to physically rip those words out of himself. He was sitting in a curled in posture. He looked small.

Kurt moved to squat in front of where Blaine sat. He grabbed Blaine's hands to force the man's attention on him. "What if I don't want to go?"

Blaine took a staggering breath, an unadorned moment of amazement.

"Then you're free to stay."

Kurt cupped his hands behind Blaine's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It was in no way innocent. Rather, it was instantly full of heat and heaviness. Kurt's hands slide away from Blaine's neck and landed high up on Blaine's thighs.

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered in question, lips still brushing against Kurt's, he barely pulled back from the kiss.

"I'm here," was his response before he pushed his tongue back into Blaine's mouth.

Blaine indulged for a little while before pulling back again. "What…?" He could feel Kurt rubbing his hand on his thighs, dangerously close to somewhere more sensitive.

"I'm here because I completely want to be, no other strings attached, and that is something neither of us have done."

Blaine groaned, deep in his chest, and the sound turned on Kurt far more than he thought it would. Then Blaine fisted his hands in Kurt's jacket and pulled him up and tighter to him. Kurt wound his arms around Blaine's neck. The position wasn't particularly stable though, with Kurt still on his toes as he was half-out of a squat and Blaine leaning forward on the bench to be nearer with him. When Kurt lost his balance and fell backward onto his ass, he took Blaine with him.

Sprawled on the floor and panting, Kurt said, "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

…

As fevered as things had been in the gym, they took their time once they got to the bedroom. They spent a good deal of time kissing as they stripped out of their clothing and let their hands wander each other's bodies. Blaine let Kurt take the lead, and he had to admit he was really stimulated with it all.

After quite a stretch of foreplay and preparation, Kurt straddled Blaine's lap and carefully sunk down onto his member. Blaine held him by the waist the entire time, dusting feather light kisses to Kurt's collar bone and the curve of his neck. Once he had sunk all the way down on Blaine, Kurt put both of his hands on Blaine's shoulders as a support to move. Blaine moved with him, rolling his hips congruent to Kurt's motions, always matching his speed.

Kurt moved tighter to Blaine, their sweat-slick chests sliding against each other's. It was like they were touching in every possible way, so close, so intimidate, so together. Blaine slipped a free hand between their bodies to stroke Kurt's penis.

Kurt grunted in reaction and bite into Blaine's shoulder.

"I'm so close. I'm so close," Kurt repeated into Blaine's neck, into Blaine's ear, just a pant.

"I know, Gorgeous, I know. Don't hold back."

Less than a minute later, Kurt threw his head back and came. The mere sight of hit, this beautiful man in a pose of intense pleasure, pushed Blaine over the edge as well.

Kurt sagged into Blaine, exhausted. Blaine encircled him in his arms and carefully laid them both back onto the bed.

"Blaine?" Kurt said, ten or so minutes after they lay there, all worn out.

"Yes, Gorgeous?"

"Let's go get a bath."

* * *

Aki- For chapters and chapter, ages and ages, I have had reviewers asking for smut. This is as smutty as I can get! Okay!

Also, as to not blindside you, this story is almost done. There are still several chapters to go, but I am really trying to finish this before NaNoWriMo starts.


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Morning, Gorgeous."

The feel of Blaine's body heat and the weight of his body partially on top of him had never been more comforting to Kurt. It used be forbidding and unwanted. It was strange, how things changed. In all rights, Kurt should hold nothing less than resentment if not all out hate for Blaine, but he couldn't. In fact, he felt the exact opposite.

"Is that my new nickname?" Kurt said.

"I'm just saying what I see," Blaine said.

"Hmm… flattery will get you everything."

"A blowjob?" Blaine asked, voice lilted with wonder.

"Do you want a blowjob?" Kurt asked.

"I want to give you a blowjob."

"Well," Kurt said, "By all means."

Blaine shifted down the bed. Kurt discovered that was one good way to wake up in the morning.

…

In a post-orgasm haze, Blaine whispered to Kurt that he was meeting with Wes this morning and that Kurt could join them for breakfast whenever he felt like he could make it out of bed. Eventually Kurt was able to drag himself out of bed and back to his own room to get dressed. Did he take a little more care than usually with the arrangement of his clothes and hair… maybe, but who had to know but him.

Wes and Blaine were engaged in a quiet conversation when Kurt entered the dining room, but Blaine excused himself from it the moment he saw Kurt.

"Morning," Kurt said with a grin.

"Morning," Blaine echoed him, giving him a peck on the mouth. "Again," he whispered, a tricky grin on his face, and Kurt knew exactly what he was referring. He went a little pink.

Wes was eyeing them confused and intrigued. "Happily reunited then?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, fairly breathless, unable to look away from Blaine, especially with the way Blaine was looking at him.

"Should I leave?" That was Wes again, this time he sounded amused.

"No, no, it's fine," Blaine said, and the two were able to disengage enough to take separate seats, though Kurt felt Blaine's hand on his knee under the table as soon as they sat.

"I'm not interrupting anything important, right?" Kurt asked.

"We're just discussing you-know-who at the moment," Wes said.

"Sebastian?" Kurt questioned with a raised eyebrow. "You know I'm not traumatized enough that I can't stand to hear his name."

"Well, then, he and his people have been silent since your rescue."

"Licking his wounds, no doubt," Kurt said bitterly.

"You would know better than anyone."

"But it's only been two days, what's the big deal?"

"Everything matters," Wes said. "He's already pushed a lot further than we presumed he would dare."

"The thing is, Kurt," Blaine said, "We might've won this game, but the fact that Sebastian even stepped up to it for the way he did, well…"

"So… you don't want to underestimate him again?" Kurt said.

Blaine smiled at him, pleased. "Exactly."

Wes stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the back. "Well, I'll go do that thing we talked about," he said, giving Blaine a certain type of look that come across as mildly annoyed.

"What're your plans for the day," Blaine asked once Wes had departed, moving his hand from Kurt's knee to hold his nearest hand instead.

"I'm going to call my dad later, but other than that, nothing really."

"Keep tonight free," Blaine said.

"Oh, wait, I forgot, I totally had plans to go out and paint the town red all by myself," Kurt teased.

"Well, trust me," Blaine said, lifting Kurt's hand to his mouth, brushing his lips against Kurt's knuckles. Kurt raised an eyebrow. "It will be worth changing your plans… you look lovely this morning, by the way."

Kurt knew it was worth the extra effort this morning.

…

Kurt was unduly anxious, as he waited for the evening to come. In fact, the rest of the day seemed to stretch long in between breakfast and then. It didn't help that Kurt didn't get to see Blaine was busy in his office, and Kurt didn't think interrupting him just because he was bored was appropriate.

As dusk approached, Kurt wished that Blaine had given him an exact time. He banged his head against the pillow, dropping the novel he had grown bored with over half an hour and half a chapter ago onto the mattress. There was a knock on his door. He sprung from bed with a "coming," but when he opened the door there was no one there.

But there was a single red rose lying on the carpet outside his door. He crouched down and picked it up. On its stem was a tag that red in cursive "follow the roses." Kurt glanced down the hall to see that there was another rose lying on the floor, several feet away.

Kurt could already tell this would be the single cheesiest experience of his life, but he already loved it.

That second rose lay at the corner of the hallway, so he picked it up and followed the turn to the steps where a rose balanced on top of the banister. Another lay on the bottom step. Kurt descended the stairs and collected it.

Standing in the always empty Ming vase on the hall table was the next rose. On the hardwood flower a few yards away down the corridor was the sixth. Now Kurt had a half dozen. Further down the hall was another on the floor. Kurt wondered where he was headed. He was well past the dining room.

The eighth rose lying across the handles of the double doors leading out onto the back yard. Kurt added it to his growing bouquet and went out the back door. There, standing just past the end of the patio, was Blaine, holding the remaining four roses awkwardly in a fist, but otherwise looking dapper and rather pleased to see Kurt.

"Hey," he said, a smile widening on his face at the sight of Kurt.

Kurt felt his face squinting up in a grin. "Hey," he responded, taking the last few steps needed for them to be together. "So far it has been worth cancelling my plans."

"Here," Blaine said, passing over the last of the flowers. Kurt added them to the others, which he held in the crook of one arm. He lifted the bunch to his nose to smell. "No one's ever gotten me roses before."

"I would have gotten more, but Wes said more than a dozen was overkill, though," he lowered his voice and spoke, "between you and me, I think Wes is worried his wife will find out."

"A dozen is perfect," Kurt said, giving Blaine a peck on the cheek. In that motion, he spied something he had missed before, eyes having zeroed in on Blaine and only Blaine. On the grass behind him was spread a blanket, accompanied a basket and a few throw pillows.

"We're having a picnic?" Kurt said, sounding more excited that he had planned, but he didn't regret the potential childish of it when Blaine's smile light up his eyes at Kurt's reaction.

Blaine offered a hand to help Kurt to the ground and followed him thusly. Blaine opened the basket and procured two stemmed flutes and a corked glass bottle.

"Is that champagne?" Kurt asked. Blaine nodded and he took care to open it.

Blaine nodded and Kurt dived his face behind his hands.

"What's wrong?" Blaine asked, suddenly anxious.

"It's just…," Kurt started, still hiding his face behind his hands. "Everything tonight has been so cliché, and I should think it's terribly contrived, but instead I love it." He peaked his eyes over his fingers. He could feel his face heating up.

Blaine looked both relieved and amused, but when he spoke next, it was all silky and serious. "You deserve only the best clichés, Kurt."

Kurt went even redder and covered his eyes again too.

"Oh, no, come on." Blaine gently cajoled Kurt's hands away from his face. He slipped a now filled glass into Kurt's hand. "A toast, to tonight."

Kurt downed his drink, for he needed something that would calm his nerves. Blaine chuckled at the sight of it and refilled Kurt's glass.

It was growing darker around them, dusk fading quickly into evening. The sky a pretty hue of grayish-blue with the last touches of sun's orange.

"I got something special for dinner," Blaine said.

"Something more special than Mrs. Hudson usually fixes?"

"Exactly, that was the trick. When the food is always perfect, how I do I find something special for a special dinner… so I had Wes look up your credit card and debit card histories to see what foods were your favorite."

"Aw, I've never found stalking so cute before," Kurt said cheekily.

"So I got stuff from you're favorite restaurant."

"And what's my favorite restaurant?" Kurt asked, a little confused.

"Breadstix?" Blaine said, now just as confused.

Realization dawned on Kurt's face. "Oh, I like Breadstix, but did you ever consider that I went there so much because it was convenient and cheap?"

"Uh, no?"

"Oh my god, you're so rich you didn't even think about that, did you?"

Blaine didn't answer.

"This is great," Kurt said positively bouncing with excitement. "You have to try the breadsticks. They're awful!"

He started scrounging through the basket and pulled down the container of breadsticks. "Here," he offered one to Blaine.

"Why're you so excited about bad food?" Blaine asked with a scrunched up nose.

"Try it!"

Blaine weighed the breadstick in hand and then took a bite. As he chewed, his made a disgusted face. "They taste like chalk with garlic on them."

"I know, right?" Kurt said.

"Why do people eat these?" Blaine asked, incredulous.

"Because they're endless."

Blaine made to stand. "If the rest of the food will be this bad, I'm going to get us something else –"

"No," Kurt said, grabbing Blaine and pulling him back down onto the blanket. "This is perfect, in an entirely uncliche way."

"Alright, alright, let's eat."

The two of them made their way through the meal, the cheesecake at the end being a particular highlight. They had more than a few glasses of champagne and became quite giggling because of it. After they were done eating, Blaine cleared the food away and set up a few throw pillows down for them to lie down on.

"Wow, you can really see the stars from here?" Kurt said. They were laid out on the blanket, staring up at the night sky. Blaine had one arm wrapped underneath Kurt's shoulders.

"Being outside city limits has its perks," Blaine said.

"It's beautiful."

"Hmmm."

Kurt shivered.

"You cold?" Blaine asked.

"I don't want to go inside," Kurt said.

The laid like that, longer, staring into the deepening night sky and at the crescent moon and the heaven hung with stars.

"Blaine," Kurt said, staring still straight up. "I l—"

Blaine curled over and pressed two fingers to Kurt's lips, effectively silencing him. "Don't. Don't say it."

When Blaine's fingers dropped away, Kurt asked, "Why not?"

"Please, just don't."

"Okay," Kurt said, unsure. They settled back down against the pillows and picnic blanket, but things for Kurt felt sour.

"Blaine?" he asked into the air.

"It's not you," Blaine replied quickly.

"… I'm cold," Kurt said.

"Here, I brought an extra blanket."

* * *

Aki- Wow, it was fluffy and then I just punched you in the gut, huh.

Also, Hurricane Sandy might knock out my power so if there is a delay in my next update, it is not my fault.


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

"Do you want to spend the night maybe, in my room. Not for… you know, but just to be together." He almost sounded nervous, Blaine with the emptied picnic basket in one hand and blankets thrown over his shoulder. Kurt was holding two pillows to his chest and the bouquet in the other hand.

"Sure, yeah," Kurt said. They went to the kitchen. Blaine deposited the basket and the dirty blankets on the counter. Kurt searched out a vase for the roses.

As he arranged them, maybe wasting time purposefully, Blaine came to stand behind him, his presence warm. Hands on Kurt's hips, he kissed the flesh behind Kurt's ear.

"Come on," Blaine said, "Bed."

Kurt turns 180 and Blaine standing right there, so close to him, looking at him, dreamy-eyed. He put a palm up to Kurt's face. "You alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Blaine took one of Kurt's hand, interlacing their fingers carefully. He didn't pull or tug Kurt like he had sometimes in the past, when Kurt was more of thing than he was Kurt. He waited for Kurt to start walking first.

They got to outside Blaine's room and Kurt tried to detach his hands. "I need to go change into some pajamas."

"Just sleep in your underwear. I swear I'll keep you warm."

"I thought you said we weren't doing _that_."

"I'll restrain myself," Blaine said. "You should move your clothes into my room, that way you don't have to keep traveling up and down the hall."

Kurt tilted his head to the side. "Blaine, are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I suppose I am."

"Well, my clothes are still in the other bedroom, so I'll be right back, I promise."

Kurt could sense Blaine watching him walk away, which was weird, because he wasn't truly walking away, not in the metaphorical sense. He was coming right back. Not ten minutes later, they were snuggled in the middle of Blaine's king size bed. It had been so intimidating once, something Kurt thought he would be swallowed by. Now it was an ocean of comfort. He could sleep forever on mattress like this one, under down blanket like that. And Blaine was there, of course, and his touches were now wanted.

Despite all that, Kurt had a hard time going to sleep.

…

"Breakfast, Gorgeous," and a kiss to his clothed shoulder. Kurt could get used to waking up to that. But only if he were allowed to reciprocate. He didn't imagine that would ever be a problem, yet here he was, after a precious day of perfection, second guessing everything.

Why couldn't things ever be uncomplicated for Kurt Hummel?

Santana joined them for breakfast, and really, Kurt didn't understand exactly what her hours were for she surely didn't seem to have any consistency to her presence.

"How's Brittany?" he asked of her. Blaine was busy perusing his morning paper. Kurt had only met the girl once, at the party, but genuinely enjoyed her.

"Awesome, as always," said Santana, then to Blaine, "And talking of Britts, that thing with her got taken care of rather well, thanks."

Blaine just nodded and turned the page of his paper. Kurt said "huh?"

Santana rolled her eyes and started explain to Kurt. "Brittany is a dancer at—"

"Troubletones. Yeah, I know."

Santana's eyes narrowed. "Sam," she said, dark and accusatory.

Kurt grimaced as he remembered he was never supposed to reveal certain information to Santana, specifically that he had received this certain information from a specific Sam Evans.

"Well, anyway, she was being harassed by a 'fan', back before you were around, kept boy." Kurt was never going to grow used to Santana's always insulting nicknames. She continued, "But Blaine, well, commissioned Wes to take of it, and we had a thug scare him off and put the bouncer of the club on our payroll to keep an extra eye on Brittany."

"Santana, if you don't mind me asking a personal question—"

"I'll probably mind."

"I was wondering… why does Brittany work as an, uh, exotic dancer if you have such a nice job from Blaine. It's not like you need the money."

"It's not for the money. It's because Brittany loves to dance. And there's not a lot of jobs you can get dancing every night for an audience. So, duh."

"And if I can ask another question—"

"If you insist."

"How did you end up working for Blaine?"

"Oh, you know," Santana said, crossing her arms smugly over her chest. "I just saved his life."

Kurt gaped. "Really?"

"Really." That was Blaine, folding his paper and discarding it on the corner of the table. "But that's a story for another time."

"It's too good for breakfast. They're needs to be cocktails involved in the telling," Santana said.

…

"You're looking a lot better already." It was true though, for when Kurt walked into Burt's hospital room, the man was sitting up in bed and appeared quite a lot less haggard than he had the last time Kurt had talked to him.

They shared some small talk, but there was something else though, weighing on Kurt. As always, Burt saw right through him and asked, "What's bothering you, kid?"

Kurt shifted his shoulders in an anxious way. "What – what does it mean when you try to tell someone 'I love you' and they won't let you."

"This about Blaine?" Kurt nodded, but it had almost been rhetorical. "What does 'not let you' mean?"

"Cut you off when you're trying to say it and ask you not to."

"I know I'm supposed to be a great advice-giver as a father, but I got to tell you, Kurt, I got no clue on this one."

Kurt sighed and nodded resignedly. It's like he was expecting some profound answer, but he had needed to talk to someone about it, and who better than his father.

"But you love him?" Burt asked, "That's new. Last time you were here you said you didn't know."

"I do," Kurt said. "But now it's just kind of confused and hurt… and it's not like he was trying to push me away altogether… so I don't understand why he wouldn't let me reciprocate with words." Kurt gnawed at his bottom lip.

"I have to give you the obvious answer here, Kurt, and say… why don't you ask him?"

Kurt chuckled. "I know that's what I should do, but that is always harder than it sounds."

Later, back in the car as they started the return journey back to the house, Kurt was ill at ease. Blaine had eased up somewhat on security this time, but Kurt still had Sam and Puck with him, and they had a special escort from the hospital security people to and from the car. He still had all his mixed up feelings with Blaine he was dealing with, but on top of it he had a new stresser.

Burt's doctor had found him before he had left the hospital. He wanted to talk about Burt's treatment and recovery after he was released from the hospital. That it was important to have someone to keep an eye on recovering patients once they were out of the hospital and back in their own homes. Couldn't have Burt overexerting himself or falling back into bad eating habits.

That person should be Kurt, and yes, Blaine had "let him go" from any obligations to Blaine, but Burt wasn't better quite yet. Yes, he was recovering, but should be there with Burt as he did it at home. Now Kurt was feeling torn in two. He needed to help his father, and he wanted to as well, but he also wanted to stay with Blaine. And yes, moving out to assist Burt once he was released from the hospital did not mean the end of Kurt and Blaine's relationship, but it felt like a severe step back, especially considering Blaine asked him to move into his room with him.

Then again, things with Blaine were confusing enough. Blaine who wouldn't let Kurt tell him he loved him. How was he supposed to deal with this, when it felt like he was half unwanted?

And he couldn't really think in the stuffiness of the car when he was close to tears and he needed to hold them back around Sam and Puck. That would be embarrassing, to say the least. And it would probably get back to Blaine, and that would prompt all those dreaded conversations that Kurt was afraid to have with Blaine.

Because he was afraid of what those answers could be. Kurt genuinely couldn't think of a good reason that Blaine would not let Kurt tell Blaine Kurt loved him. None.

The honks of the car horns got louder than was more usual din of the city that Kurt had grown up on and around. There was a screech of tires on asphalt. An explicative from Sam. And a sudden impact, Kurt jerking hard against his seatbelt. Then a second impact. Things went black.

* * *

Aki- If you thought the ending of last chapter was bad…


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Santana was clicking away at the screen of her tablet, almost lethargically. There hadn't been much of a lively spirit in the estate as of late.

Wes stopped by Santana's chair. She was out in the hallway beyond Blaine's closed office door.

"Since when did you sit here?" he asked here. It was with less spunk that he would usually share with his conversations with her.

"I like to be close, just in case," she said. "And if you've come to talk to him, he's in a quite a funk today."

"Already?"

"Well, I know I'd be…if it had been Brittany. Wouldn't you be if it was your wife?"

Wes took a slow, careful sort of sigh. "Yes, I would. But he's making is worse from himself than it is. Kurt's not dead."

…

There was a beeping noise, steady and the more that he listened to it, grating. It was familiar too, something he knew, like an alarm clock or a fire alarm. Neither of those guesses was correct. He was just off point, but it was important to remember.

It was heart monitor. A heart monitor, like he had heard every time he went to visit his dad when he was in a coma, both times. No. His dad was supposed to be getting _better._

He peeled his eyes open, slowly, blinking, his vision blurry.

"That's it, buddy," a voice spoke. His dad's voice. The heart monitor sped up. He blinked a few more times. He was facing the ceiling, which meant he was lying down. There was a hand holding his. Kurt was the one getting his heart monitored.

"Dad?" he croaked.

"I'm right here." The grip on his hand tightened. "You're okay."

"What…?" It was the only word he could manage to say.

"You were in a car accident…well, it wasn't an accident, but never mind now. You got a pretty bad head injury, brain swelling. You've been in a medically induced coma for over a week."

"What?" Kurt said again, this was significantly more stressed.

He felt his father's other hand ghost over his forehead, brushing away bangs. A week in a coma? He must be a mess.

"They weaned you off the drugs a while ago. You've just been sleeping for the last few hours. The doctor says you're fine."

"And you?" Kurt manages to say, slitting his eyes to give his father a small sort of glare.

"I'm fine too… let me get you some water."

About an hour later, Kurt not only managed to sit up in bed, but get out and get a shower, shave, dress nicely, and feel vaguely human again. Only then, put back together, was he able to start processing more complicated things. Like where the hell he was.

It was the first thing he asked his father when he came out of the bathroom, still toweling dry his hair. "Where the hell are we?"

Burt motioned for him to sit on the couch, and Kurt sat without protest, for he knew that he has been the same way with Burt, when he was recovering from illness.

"Baltimore," Burt said plainly, and Kurt gaped in shock.

"What?" he squeaked, the third time today. He didn't think he wanted any more surprises.

"Kurt, the car accident wasn't an accident. Someone was trying to kill you," Burt said.

"Sebastian," Kurt said simply.

Burt rubbed at his head. "You really hadn't told me the extent of what happened while I was out… you were kidnapped?"

Kurt grimaced. "Yes. I suppose you were told then."

"I was told a lot of things. Blaine's an interesting guy," Burt said, giving Kurt a look.

Kurt made another face. "You met Blaine then."

"Yes. We had a long conversation."

Kurt groaned and put his head in his hands. He could only imagine how badly that went. He was secretly glad to have not been conscious for it. He could feel the awkwardness, stress, and embarrassment from the past already.

"Why Baltimore?" Kurt asked.

"Seems Blaine has an alliance with the head of the underworld here… and this place is out of Sebastian Smythe's reach… he has a hit out on you."

Kurt ran fingers through his drying hair in a move of anxieties. "So he sent me away to keep me safe."

"Yes," Burt said.

Kurt stood swiftly from the couch. "I need to call Blaine." He started looking around. He thought they were in an apartment; it looked like the layout of the apartment. "Where's the phone."

Burt pointed to the end table were a portable phone was sitting in its cradle. It had been next to Kurt the whole time.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Dad, I thought you said I needed to put myself first…" Kurt said, picking up the phone a dialing the numbers fiercely with his thumb. He pressed the phone close to his ear. It ringed and ringed. Finally, someone picked up.

"Anderson residence."

"Mrs. Hudson? It's Kurt."

"Oh," her voice suddenly less professional and more emotional. "Oh, Kurt. It's good to hear your voice."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Could I talk to Blaine?"

Burt was watching him with piercing, careful eyes. Kurt turned his back on him.

"Oh," she said again, though this time with a completely different tone. Something downtrodden. Kurt's hold on the phone twisted. "Let me…"

He could hear the phone being set down on a surface. About a minute or two later, it was picked up again, but not by the person he wanted.

"Hey, Hummel."

"Santana. Hey, I want to talk to Blaine. Is he busy or something? I'm sure he could make time. I just woke up from a coma."

She sighed heavily, annoyed. "Apparently the boss man is too much of baby to do this himself, but he doesn't want you calling him… or contacting him at all."

"Excuse me?" Kurt felt his heart thud heavily in his chest, his pulse moving throughout his whole body. In fact, it was like he was in more serious contact with all the functions of his body, as if he was trying to make sure he could feel, in order for the confirmation that this was actually his reality and not something of a dream world.

"It's for your own safety," she said, and she didn't sound exactly like she believed it. "You've been close to death twice in the last week because of your connection to Blaine. You were extremely lucky to survive both times. Blaine couldn't stand the thought of you dying for him, of risking anything else for him." It sounded like she was reading from a script. "So he's setting you free and getting you to a safe place. You can start over in Baltimore. He's giving you the start up cash for your father to restart his business and enough so that you can take time to decide what you want to do.

"Blaine loves you and hopes you find happiness in your new life. You deserve it. He was lucky to have you in the time he did –"

"Please stop," Kurt said, no, choked over the phone. He didn't realize he was crying.

"He told me to tell you these things when you called. He'd knew call," Santana said, and she sounded _off_ as well. She started her monotone again. "He was lucky to have you the time he did, but he should have known that he couldn't keep you. You are too good of a person to be in his life. You would only be hurt…"

"Stop," Kurt gasped. His dad was now standing behind him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's the only way to keep you safe." Santana plowed on, pitching her voice louder over Kurt's protest. "He's only doing what's best for you."

Kurt couldn't speak, his throat clogged.

"Goodbye."

There was silence, then dial tone. Kurt dropped the phone from his now limp hand. It clattered on the floor. He didn't care. Burt leaned down to pick it up, turn it off, and replace it in its charger.

"I told you not to call," Burt said, voice low and scratchy. He must've known what Kurt would hear. Blaine must have told him.

"I –," Kurt said, a beginning of a million different statements. _I love him. I don't understand. I wish this was a nightmare. I can't believe this is happening. I don't know what to do, Dad. I thought he loved me._

Burt tugged him into a hug. Kurt ducked his head on his father's shoulder. He didn't sob. Rather, he squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking silently out. He couldn't feel enough to sob. Considering only moments ago he could feel his body so acutely, now he was only left with a numbing buzz.

…

Santana pushed down the door of Blaine's office without knocking. Blaine was sitting behind his big wooden desk, in his large leather armchair, a sight was could be and has been impressive, awe-inspiring, and intimidating. Now it just looked sad, like Blaine was a child playing at something he wasn't quite.

"He called. Just now," Santana said. She was examining her nails on one hand, forcing herself to try to remain casual. Blaine was the one that decided on this stupid thing. Sure, hearing Kurt's broken voice had frayed her nerves a bit, but it's not like telling Blaine would cause anything to change. He was already surrounded by a cloud of his own making.

"Yeah?" he said. Blaine wasn't looking at her. Santana wasn't sure he was looking at anything.

"I gave him the message. I don't know why I had to be the one to do it."

"Because you were the only person I could trust that was cold-hearted enough and caring enough to do it," Blaine said.

"That sounded like a straight answer."

"I'm too exhausted to lie."

"Right. Whatever. You just pushed away a person you're in love with. I'm going home." She turned to leave.

Blaine spoke after her. "You would've done it for Brittany, right? To keep her safe?"

Santana looked over her shoulder. "Brittany isn't a child. And neither is Kurt."

That answer didn't make sense to Blaine, but he was sure it meant a lot.

…

Neither Burt nor Kurt could do much, both of them recovering. Most days they watched TV together, eating take out and easily made food. Scrambled eggs were common. Kurt had a few checkups, with a doctor coming to their house. Burt did too. Both, apparently, where doing alright. It was its own victory. Kurt knew he should be more pleased, especially about his father. However, everything felt damper mix of other emotions. Life felt like swimming through slug.

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" Burt said one night.

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. He hadn't been talking much either.

"I don't know," he ended up saying, for he thought he owed his father some words. He wasn't used to feeling part of himself was missing, and he wasn't sure how to articulate that.

Kurt fell asleep on the couch that night. His had gotten too big to move and his dad had gotten too weak to move him. He felt all achy the next morning, waking up there. He dragged himself to his bed and slept some more.

He thought his dad was getting really worried about him. He decided to try and talk about it the next day.

…

"Does it hurt so much to lose someone?" Kurt asked over breakfast on the day he swore to himself to try more. "Is this normal?"

"Yes," Burt said.

Kurt glanced up with him with wide eyes. "Oh my god, I can believe I just asked you that. This doesn't even compare with Mom."

"It compares to the time your mother and I broke up."

"What?" Kurt said, shocked.

"It was before we were married," Burt said with a little shrug. "Big fight. I was taking her for granted. She told me she never wanted to talk to me again. It felt like a punch in the gut. It was even worse the next day when I tried to call her and she refused to answer her phone. She hadn't been exaggerating."

"What did you do?"

"I respected her wishes. Couldn't go forcing her to talk to me when she didn't want to. She was hurt. About a month later of her avoiding me, and me thinking about what I had done and how much I missed her, I wrote her a letter, apologizing and told her how I would treat her better if she was ever willing to give me a second chance."

"I always thought you two were perfect," Kurt said in wonderment. "Like, meant to be."

"I think young people like you, Kurt, tend to think such things. No one is meant to be. No one is perfect. In relationships, you either make things work, or you don't."

…

Burt walked in on Kurt the next day hastily packing a selection of his clothes and belongings – which Kurt realized Blaine must have had sent to this new apartment in Baltimore – into his suitcase.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm going to try and make it work."

* * *

Aki- Leaving you off on a hopeful note. You're welcome.

Also, warning: This chapter, next chapter, epilogue.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Santana was positively cackling as she approached. Blaine could hear her from his office, and it worded him. Many times when she laughed, it was calculated, but this was purely gleeful and venomous.

There was a bang on his office door that sounded like her kicking it rather than knocking.

"Yes?" Blaine called loudly enough to be heard.

Santana opened the door and leaned on the frame. "You're not going to believe who just showed up at the gates."

"Who?" Blaine said, his mind quickly filing through a list of people who could possibly elicit this reaction in her. He came to no conclusion answer.

She tossed her bangs back before answering, "Lover boy."

Blaine's heavy eyebrows dipped down. "Kurt?"

"He's waiting in the living room," she said. God, was she pleased. She sank further into her lean in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. Blaine swallowed, then strode past her out of the room. She followed his exit with a sneer.

He could see Kurt from the top of the steps, the back of him, where he stood on the carpet. As Blaine started trotting down the stairs at a quick, staccato pace, Kurt turned to face him. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he didn't look pleased.

"Kurt," Blaine said as he reached the main floor, quickly closing the space between the two of them. "What're you doing here? Are you alright?" He pulled Kurt into a hug, but Kurt didn't unwind his arms from around his torso.

"I'm fine," Kurt said in a clipped tone, stepping back from Blaine's embrace as soon as the man released him.

"How did you get here?" Blaine asked.

"A taxi, a plan, and then another taxi," Kurt said. "Good thing I'm still living off your money."

"By yourself? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" Blaine's voice was high and urgent and genuinely worried. At the sound of it, something twitched in the façade of Kurt's, but it went back to stony fairly quick.

"I wouldn't have had to if you didn't send me away and refuse to talk to me," Kurt said, and it was a fairly decisive blow.

"I was trying to protect you."

Kurt dropped his arms roughly to his sides. "Well, you don't get to make that call all the time, Blaine!"

Blaine ducked his head from the fire of Kurt's gaze. He couldn't remember the last time he lost a staring match. It was probably to his father, the previous Anderson patriarch.

"I was trying to protect you," Blaine repeated, softer, slower.

Kurt heaved a sigh, half exasperated and half resigned. "You sent me away, and you wouldn't even say goodbye yourself."

"It would've hurt too much," Blaine whispered, and Kurt barely heard it. Blaine looked up again. His eyes looked sad, and sad in a way that Kurt had never seen them. For he had seen Blaine sad before; he thought Blaine was mostly sad, amongst the anger and other things, for most of the time Kurt had known him, but this was different. This was on the surface, and this was weak, as opposed to something steeled away deep in him, churned into metal and pounded away to steal his bones.

Kurt took a step forward. "What about me? What about the way it hurt me?"

"You're so talented and wonderful, Kurt. There's a hundred different great lives you could have without me. I wouldn't have you give them up for me. I wouldn't have you give up your _actual_ life for me either."

"But can't I have both. Can't I have my life and you," Kurt said, almost pleading. He wanted Blaine to understand; he wanted himself to understand too.

"It doesn't work that way," Blaine said, his voice fuller and more firm.

"Why not?" Kurt demanded.

"Because," Blaine snapped, turning away from Kurt, taking a few paces and digging his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose.

Kurt followed him. "Because?" he said, louder still, voice on the edge of a yell.

Blaine snapped back around, and yelled, "Because I don't get to keep the things I love, Kurt!"

The room was still except for both of their heavy breathing.

Blaine's legs went like jelly under him. Stumbling, he took a seat in an armchair. He sat there for a while and Kurt came to kneel next to the armrest, wrists resting on it.

"Jeremiah left," Blaine said in a hoarse whisper. "Mom died. Cooper was murder… there's not exactly a good track record for the people I love."

"And you want to continue that, by forcing me away?"

Blaine lifted and fell one shoulder. "It's not like it's not going to happen anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kurt asked, sharp.

"…nothing."

Kurt grabbed his coat sleeve inside his elbow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaine exhaled a long breathe. "You're either going to get killed because of your relationship with me. Or you're going to realize how you actually feel and leave."

The first explanation was expected, and at least somewhat valid. The second, however, Kurt had a confused and offended head jerk for. "What I actually feel?" Kurt had planned, at least somewhat, to be telling Blaine off right now, but it had ended up something more of an interview. He needed to know, though, these curious motives of Blaine.

Blaine looked at him directly and said plainly, "That you don't love me."

Kurt stood instantly from his spot, scoffing in offense. "Excuse me, I _tried_ to tell you I loved you, and you told me not to."

Blaine scooted forward on his chair. "Because I know that you don't."

Kurt felt winded now. How could be respond to that? How could hear it? And he was crying now, unbidden. He paced to the other side of the room, trying to get enough composure back to confront him without breaking into a sobbing mess.

When Kurt spun back around, Blaine was standing now, closer, with eyes that were soft, regretful, but honest.

"How could you say – that?" It the best sentence Kurt could construct with the tight bands wrapping around his chest and the buzzing that was running through his limbs.

"You can't," Blaine said. "Not given the circumstances."

"The circumstances of you rescuing me?" Kurt still had some bit left in him.

"From a problem that I got you into," Blaine corrected.

"Or saving my father's life."

"At the price of you having sex with me."

"Or comforting me as I cried."

"So would have Mrs. Hudson if she had the opportunity, but I don't see you falling in love with her! Treating you like a decent human being after keeping you captive here does not make me worthy of your love. It's Stockholm Syndrome 101."

Kurt crossed the room and took Blaine by his lapels. Blaine made no move to remove him. Kurt spoke then, quietly, precisely, and pissed off. "Blaine Anderson, you do not get to decide what I feel or why I feel it. I've had a lot of time around this house to think. I had a lot of time in Baltimore. Do you really think I didn't consider Stockholm Syndrome? _Everyone_ knows what that is. You've let me go twice now, and I decided this is where I'd rather be. I love you, and I'm not going anywhere. Now kiss me, you stupid son of a bitch."

There they were, the two of them, inches apart. He wanted Kurt, Blaine really wanted Kurt, in all the ways you could want someone. That included what was best for him, and he thought he knew. That's way he had sent him away. But here Kurt was, refusing to let Blaine decide for him who he felt and who he wanted to be in a relationship with.

Santana made sense now. Kurt's not a child. He doesn't need to have decisions made for him for his greater good.

And he was right there: beautiful and passionate, hands shaking with intensity as he held onto Blaine's jacket.

Blaine grabbed the front of Kurt's shirt. How many seconds had passed in silence? Only, really, a few.

"Yes, dear," he said, and their mouths clashed together.

…

"Are you watching me sleep?" A whisper— Kurt's— through barely moved lips, eyes slotted open in the darkness.

"You're not asleep."

"Were you?"

A finger trailed down Kurt's cheek. "Yes."

Eyes opened wider, observing. Blaine's resting on his elbow next to where Kurt laid flat. He reached a hand out and pressed it to the center of Blaine's bare chest.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked.

"How could you ever manage to forgive me, after what I did to you?" Blaine said.

"Why can't you just fall to sleep after sex like a normal person," Kurt said, a joke to lighten the mood. Then, "I don't know. Is that a cop out?"

"I was horrible. I am horrible."

"No, you're not… You never were for a moment what I expected…" He moved the hand from Blaine's chest to brush the underside of his jaw.

"That doesn't make me forgivable." Blaine was looking Kurt in the eye, never faltering from the contact, from the pressured honestly of it.

"Maybe the fact that you think you're unforgivable does… for me, at least. It might not work for other people, even in the exact same situation. I'm sure there are a lot of people who think this is wrong. That I'm crazy to come back to you, maybe I am…"

Blaine quirked a small grin, not much, but enough. "Maybe we both are."

"That's an acute possibility," Kurt said. He arched up from the bed and pressed his lips to Blaine's cheek. "Now go to sleep."

* * *

**Aki- **Epilogue will be coming out in the next few days.

This is a problematic story, in the consent issues and Kurt falling in love with the person who coerced into sex. Yes, Blaine changes and is sorry, but it doesn't change the fact. I tried to address this throughout the story, and you can see that even in this last chapter. I wasn't originally planning on such a happy ending (Kurt and Blaine were going to stay separate after this recent care accident after Blaine sent him away, with perhaps a hint that somewhere in the future they might get back together), but reviewers really wanted them together, and when I got to this point (perhaps it was The Break Ups fault), so did I. So, this is a fantasy and probably not how you should form healthy relationships with people in real life. And when I say probably, I mean definitely. Don't ever say I didn't tell you.


	30. Epilogue

**Epilogue: 6 Months Later**

Blaine hmmed as he read the headlining article of the Sunday newspaper.

"I've read it three times already. It's not changing," Kurt said. He was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, feet propped up in Blaine's lap.

Blaine flipped the paper down and observed the grinning man. "Well, it's good news, isn't it? Shouldn't we revel?"

"Sebastian Smythe in a lethal private jet crash. Police are ruling it an accident… but I'm not sure about accident, though?"

The last question was directed with a raised eyebrow at Blaine.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said with a smirk, and then leaned towards Kurt to share a kiss. Kurt met him halfway.

"You two are so domestic," Santana said, the eye roll evident in her tone, from an armchair across the room.

Kurt and Blaine ignored her.

"With Sebastian gone, does this mean I can be free to do whatever I want around the city now?" asked Kurt, lightly.

"As long as you have two bodyguards with you," Blaine said, flipping back open the paper.

Kurt considered for a moment. "I'll make them carry my shopping bags."

"Wait, a shopping trip's happening?" Santana said, "Because I am totally on board for that."

"I'll let you know," Kurt told her. To Blaine again, "Actually, I think I want to go visit my dad at his shop today."

"I can go with you," Blaine offered.

Kurt shook his head no. "Don't want to scare the customers away," Kurt said in a teasing whisper.

Blaine nodded in concession. "True."

They went their separate ways for the most of the day. On his way home from a longer than planned visit to his father, Kurt received a text massage on his phone reading, "Dress nicely and meet me by the front door by seven." Never needing a reason to have fun with clothes, Kurt did, after showering, pick out a careful ensemble. Time, of course, got away from him, so it was five minutes delayed that he made his way downstairs.

Waiting for him was Blaine, dressed in a black tuxedo, although tie-less, the top two buttons of his blouse undone. Kurt's eyes were drawn to the small reveal of skin, nothing naughty, but somehow still tempting.

"What's going on?" Kurt asked, although a smile was already in place.

"I know we were joking about it this morning, but ever since you came back, I have been overly protective…"

"You had a good reason," Kurt said. He understood, especially after the car crash. Sebastian hadn't been done with him. And really, protective Blaine was better than the alternative, which was no Blaine at all.

"Even so… It's time for a proper evening out. You and me." Blaine then offered his arm.

Kurt took it. "You could have used manners like this when we met."

Blaine led them out of the front door and down the front steps to an awaiting limo. Sam stood by the door, holding it open for them to get in the back seat. Sam threw a quick wink.

The engine revved up and they were moving. The panel was up between the driver's seat and the back occupants, so the two lovers had their privacy.

Blaine scooped up Kurt's hand and kissed the knuckles. "This is kind of our first date."

Kurt tilted his head. "I think of the backyard picnic as our first date."

"I suppose it was," Blaine said, curling his hand around in Kurt's so their fingers interlaced. "When's our anniversary, then?"

"When you were boxing and you told me to I could leave and I said no."

Blaine smirked. "And then we had really hot sex?"

Kurt shushed him, placing his fingertips to Blaine's lips. "I don't want Sam to hear."

Blaine lightly kissed the pads of Kurt's fingers. "He can't hear anything, Gorgeous. It's the whole point of the panel... he can't see anything either."

He cupped his free hand on Kurt's cheek and pressed their lips together. They were soft kisses, unheated, and not needing wandering hands or the implied promise of sex after. They were romantic, comfortable, familiar, and content.

"I was going to wait until we were at the restaurant, but I can't wait," Blaine said as they moved back for breathe.

"Wait for what?" Kurt asked. His eyes were still lidded.

"Marry me."

Kurt opened his eyes. "What?"

Blaine traced his thumb along Kurt's bottom lip. "Marry me, please."

"Okay," Kurt breathed.

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Okay what?"

Kurt laughed behind his hand. "Okay, I'll marry you."

They kissed again and both of them felt as if they were pleasantly drunk. How couldn't they not? Seatbelts be damned, they sat brush up against each other on the bench seat. Blaine let out a little huff, perhaps an aborted laugh.

"Hmm?" Kurt questioned him, content petting his fingers down the loose curls at the nape of Blaine's neck.

"I just never expected anything like this to be the outcome of asking you that night to…"

"I didn't either," Kurt said, quickly but lightly cutting Blaine off. Blaine often still got into this funks of self-hate and regret in regards to how his relationship started. And Kurt completely understood, and Kurt didn't seek to fix that. It was something Blaine would have to work through, as long as he didn't try to pull away from Kurt definitely. And he wasn't, not after this.

He kissed the corner of Blaine's mouth. "But you just gave me an offer I couldn't refuse."

* * *

Aki- I would have posted this earlier tonight, but I was distracted by the election.

This is the end. I liked this story and it was definitely a learning experience for me, because I definitely incorporated more of an action/intrigue plot than I have ever written before as well as a larger cast of characters as I have in previous fanfics. And, no, before you ask, there is not going to be a sequel. If I do ever dabble back in this verse, it will probably to be to explore other characters (like Santana or Rachel/Jesse), but I am not sure I am going to do that at all. I do have many ideas for more klaine fanfics, but I plan to take a little break writing them to focus on some original fiction.

Anyway, thank you all for reading this to the end. Hugs and kisses!


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